HENRY VAUGHAN (1622-1695)
Happy those early days, when I Shined in my angel-infancy; Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy ought But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first love, And looking back-at that short space- Could see a glimpse of His bright face; 10 When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity;
Before I taught my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense, A several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O fountains! when in you shall I
Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.
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? Had'st 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 equalled be By all that waking eyes may see. Thou this damage to repair, Nothing half so sweet or fair, Nothing half so good can'st bring,
Though men say, "Thou bring'st the spring?"
Thou robbest my days of business and delights,
Of sleep thou robbest my nights;
ladies now at land
We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you— With a fa, la, la, la, la!
For though the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain,
Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind IO To wave the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea- With a fa, la, la, la, la!
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