3.

[Anacreontiques.]

DRINKING.

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again,
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The sea itself, which one would think
Should have but little need of drink,
Drinks ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they oerflow the cup.
The busy sun (and one would guess
By its drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and when he's done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun.
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I,
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

THE SWALLOW.

Foolish prater, what dost thou
So early at my window do

With thy tuneless serenade?

Well't had been had Tereus made

Thee as dumb as Philomel;

There his knife had done but well.

In thy undiscovered nest,

Thou dost all the winter rest,
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys
Free from the stormy season's noise:
Free from th' ill thou'st done to me,
Who disturbs or seeks out thee?

Hadst thou all the charming notes
Of the wood's poetic throats,
All thy art could never pay
What thou'st ta'en from me away;
Cruel bird, thou 'st ta'en away
A dream out of my arms to-day,
A dream that ne'er must equall'd be
By all that waking eyes may see.
Thou this damage to repair,
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good canst bring,

Though men say, thou bring'st the spring.

4.

[From The Mistress.]

THE SPRING.

Though you be absent here, I needs must say
The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,
As ever they were wont to be;
Nay the birds' rural music too
Is as melodious and free,

As if they sung to pleasure you:

I saw a rose-bud ope this morn; I'll swear
The blushing morning open'd not more fair.

How could it be so fair, and you away?
How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay?
Could they remember but last year,
How you did them, they you delight,

The sprouting leaves which saw you here,
And call'd their fellows to the sight,

Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their silent barks again.

Where'er you walk'd trees were as reverend made,

As when of old gods dwelt in every shade.

Is 't possible they should not know,
What loss of honour they sustain,

That thus they smile and flourish now,
And still their former pride retain?

Dull creatures! 'tis not without cause that she,
Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree.

In ancient times sure they much wiser were,
When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear;
In vain did nature bid them stay,
When Orpheus had his song begun,
They call'd their wondering roots away,
And bade them silent to him run.

How would those learned trees have followed you?
You would have drawn them, and their poet too.

But who can blame them now? for, since you're gone,
They're here the only fair, and shine alone.

You did their natural rights invade;
Where ever you did walk or sit,

The thickest boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:

The fairest flowers could please no more, near you,
Than painted flowers, set next to them, could do.

When e'er then you come hither, that shall be

The time, which this to others is, to me.

The little joys which here are now,
The name of punishments do bear,
When by their sight they let us know
How we depriv'd of greater are.

'Tis you the best of seasons with you bring;
This is for beasts, and that for men the spring.

THE WISH.

Well then; I now do plainly see, This busy world and I shall ne'er agree; The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy,

And they, methinks, deserve my pity,

Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

And since love ne'er will from me flee,

A mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian-angels are,

Only belov'd, and loving me!

O fountains, when in you shall I Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts, espy? O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be made The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of pleasure's flood;

Where all the riches lie, that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here,

Only in far-fetched metaphors appear;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, And nought but echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither From heav'n did always choose their way;

And therefore we may boldly say,

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I,

And one dear she live, and embracing die!
She who is all the world, and can exclude
In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear,
Lest men, when they my pleasures see,
Should hither throng to live like me,
And make a city here.

5.

[From Pindarique Odes.]

To MR. HOBBES.

Vast bodies of philosophy

I oft have seen, and read,
But all are bodies dead,

Or bodies by art fashioned;

I never yet the living soul could see,
But in thy books and thee.

'Tis only God can know

Whether the fair idea thou dost show
Agree entirely with his own or no;

This I dare boldly tell,

'Tis so like truth 'twill serve our turn as well. Just as in nature thy proportions be,

As full of concord their variety,

As firm the parts upon their centre rest,
And all so solid are that they, at least
As much as nature, emptiness detest.

Long did the mighty Stagirite retain
The universal intellectual reign,

Saw his own country's short-lived leopard1 slain;
The stronger Roman eagle did outfly,
Oftener renewed his age, and saw that die;
Mecca itself, in spite of Mahomet possessed,
And chas'd by a wild deluge from the east,
His monarchy new planted in the west.

1 The Macedonian empire. See the commentators on Daniel, ch. 7.