« السابقةمتابعة »
I the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish, and anon must die ;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Or, if that golden fleece must grow
Thus, either Time his sickle brings
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Fuel to maintain his fires;
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle neverdying fires; Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
ASK me why I send you here,
This firstling of the winter year;
Love and my sighs thus intertalked : “ Tell me (said I, in deep distress)
" Where may I find my shepherdess ?” “ Thou fool (said Love), know'st thou not this, “ In every thing that's good she is ? “ In yonder tulip go and seek, “There may'st thou find her lip, her cheek: “ In yon enamelld pansy by, “ There thou shalt have her curious eye; “In bloomy peach, in rosy bud, " There wave the streamers of her blood." u 'Tis true," said I; and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts a union : But, on a sudden, all was gone, With that I stopt; said Love, These be, “ Fond man, resemblances of thee. “ And, as these flow'rs, thy joys shall die, “ Ev’n in the twinkling of an eye: “ And all thy hopes of her shall wither “ Like those short sweets thus knit together."
UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.
'Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it impt the wings of fame. That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voice and eyes; Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies : Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate,
I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
that the Winter's gone, the Earth hath lost Her snow-white robes ; and now no more the
Frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream : But the warm Sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender ; gives a second birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee. Now, do a choir of Chirping Minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful Spring ; The valleys, hills and woods, in rich array, Welcome the Morning of the longed-for May. Now all things smile! only my Love doth lour! Nor hath the scalding noon-day sun the pow'r
To melt the marble ice that still doth hold
SK me no more-where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose? For in your beauties' orient deep, These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more-whither do stray The golden atoms of the Day; For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more-whither doth haste The Nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet-dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those Stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more-if east or west, The Phenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you, at last, she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies!
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. THE glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things ;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still.
Early or late,
They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar now, See where the victor victim bleeds.
All heads must come
To the cold tomb ;