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WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE.
With thy tuneless serenade?
Had I the power of creation, Well 't had been had Tereus made
As I have of generation, Thee as dumb as Philomel ;
Where I the matter must obey, There his knife had done but well.
And cannot work plate out of clay, In thy undiscovered nest
My creatures should be all like thee, Thou dost all the winter rest,
'Tis thou should'st their idea be: And dreamest o'er thy summer joys,
They, like thee, should thoroughly hate Free from the stormy seasons' noise,
Business, honour, title, state; Free from th' ill thou'st done to me;
Other wealth they should not know, Who disturbs or seeks-out tliee?
But what my living mines bestow; Hadst thou all the charming notes
The pomp of kings, they should confess, Of the wood's poetic throats,
At their crownings, to be less All thy art could never pay
Than a lover's humblest guise, What thou hast ta'en froin me away.
When at his mistress' feet he lies. Cruel bird ! thou'st ta'en away
Rumour they no more should mind A dream out of my arms to-day ;
Than men safe landed do the wind; A dream, that ne'er must equall'd be
Wisdom itself they should not hear, By all that waking eyes inay see.
When it presumes to be severe ; Thou, this damage to repair,
Beauty alone they should admire, Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nor look at Fortune's vain attire. Nothing half so good, canst bring,
Nor ask what parents it can shew;
With dead or old 't has nought to do.
With mirtlı, and wit, and gaiety ;
Well remembering and applying
Their cheerful heads should always wear
All that crowns the flowery year : How shall I lament thine end,
They should always laugh, and sing, My best servant and my friend ?
And dance, and strike th' harmonious string, Nay, and, if from a deity
Verse should from their tongue so flow, So much deified as I,
As if it in the mouth did grow, It sound not too profane and odd,
As swiftly answering their command, Oh, my master and my god !
As tunes obey the artful hand. For 'tis true, most mighty poet!
And whilst I do thus discover (Though I like not men should know it)
'Th' ingredients of a happy lover, I am in naked Nature less,
"Tis, my Anacreon! for thy sake Less by much, than in thy dress.
I of the Grape no mention make. All thy verse is softer far
Till my Anacreon by thee fell, Than the downy feathers are
Cursed Plant ! I lov'd thee well; Of my wings, or of my arrows,
And 'twas oft my wanton use Of my mother's doves or sparrows,
To dip my arrows in thy juice. Sweet as lovers' freshest kisses,
Cursed Plant ! 'tis true, I see, Or their riper following blisses,
The old report that goes of thee – Graceful, cleanly, smooth, and round,
That with giants' blood the Earth All with Venus' girdle bound;
Stain’d and poison'd gave thee birth ; And thy life was all the while
And now thou wreak'st thy ancient spite Kind and gentle as thy style,
On inen in whom the gods delight. The smooth-pac'd hours of every day
Thy patron, Bacchus, 'tis no wonder, Glided numerously away.
Was brought forth in fames and thunder; Like thy verse each hour did pass;
In rage, in quarrels, and in fights, Sweet and short, like that, it was.
Worse than his tigers, he delights ; Some do but their youth allow me,
In all our Heaven I think there be Just what they by Nature owe me,
No such ill-natur'd god as he. The time that's mine, and not their own,
Thou pretendest, traitorous Wine! The certain tribute of my crown:
To be the Muses' friend and mine : When they grow old, they grow to be
With love and wit thou dost begin, Too busy, or too wise, for me.
False fires, alas! to draw us in ; Thou wert wiser, and didst know
Which, if our course we by them keep, None too wise for love can grow ;
Misguide to madness or to sleep : Love was with thy life entwin'd,
Sleep were well, thou'st learnt a way Close as heat with fire is join'd;
To death itself now to betray. A powerful brand prescrib'd the date
It grieves me when I see what fate Of thine, like Meleager's, fate.
Does on the best of mankind wait. Th'antiperistasis of age
Poets or lovers let them be, More enflam'd thy amorous rage ;
'Tis neither love nor poesy Thy silver hairs yielded me'more
Can arm, against Death's smallest dart, Than even golden curls before.
The poet's head or lover's heart ;
But when their life, in its decline,
I'd advise them, when they spy Touches th' inevitable line,
Any illustrious piety, All the world's mortal to them then,
To reward her, if it be she And wine is aconite to men;
To reward him, if it be he Nay, in Death's hand, the grape-stone proves
With such a husband, such a wife; As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
With Acme's and Septimius' life.
ODE, FROM CATULLUS.
ACME AND SEPTIMIUS.
Whilst on Septimius' panting breast
“ My dearest Acme, if I be
THE COMPLAINT. In a deep vision's intellectual scene, Beneath a bower for sorrow made,
Th' uncomfortable shade
Of the black yew's unlucky green,
The melancholy Cowley lay :
That Art can never imitate;
feet. She touch'd him with her harp, and rais'd him from
the ground; The shaken strings melodiously resound.
“ Art thou return'd at last,” said she,
“ To this forsaken place and me?
And Winter marches on so fast?
Had to their dearest children done;
show, Would'st into courts and cities from me go; Would'st see the world abroad, and have a share In all the follies and the tumults there: Thou would’st, forsooth, be something in a state, And business thou would'st find, and would'st
Business! the frivolous pretence
Business! the grave impertinence;
And see to what amount
Thy foolish gains by quitting me : The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, The fruits of thy unlearn’d apostacy. Thou thought'st, if once the public storm were
This good omen thus from Heaven
If the gods would please to be But advis'd for once by me,
All thy remaining life should sunshine be; The foolish sports I did on thee bestow,
spent at last,
Make all my art and labour fruitless now; The sovereign's tost at sea no more,
Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever And thou, with all the noble company,
grow. Art got at last to shore. But, whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see
“ When my new mind had no infusion known, All march'd up to possess the promis'd land, Thou gav'st so deep a tincture of thine own, Thou, still alone, alas! dost gaping stand
That ever since I vainly try Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand !
To wash away th' inherent dye:
Long work perhaps may spoil thy colours quite ; “ As a fair morning of the blessed spring,
But never will reduce the native white : After a tedious stormy night,
To all the ports of honour and of gain, Such was the glorious entry of our king ;
I often steer my course in vain ; Enriching moisture drop'd on every thing : Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again. Plenty he sow'd below, and cast about him light! Thou slack’nest all my nerves of industry, But then, alas ! to thee alone,
By making them so oft to be One of old Gideon's miracles was shown;
The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy. For every tree and every herb around
Whoever this world's happiness would see, With pearly dew was crown'd,
Must as entirely cast off thee, And upon all the quicken'd ground
As they who only Heaven desire
Do from the world retire.
Myself a demi-votary to make.
Thus, with Sapphira and her husband's fate, (The men whom through long wanderings he had led)|(A fault which I, like them, am taught too late,)
That he would give them ev'n a heaven of For all that I gave up I nothing gain, brass :
And perish for the part which I retain. They look'd up to that Heaven in vain, That bounteous Heaven, which God did not re “ Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse! strain
The court, and better king, t'accuse : Upon the most unjust to shine and rain.
The heaven under which I live is fair,
The fertile soil will a full harvest bear : “ The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more Thine, thine is all the barrenness ; if thou
Thou didst with faith and labour serve, Mak’st me sit still and sing, when I should plough. And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve, When I but think how many a tedious year Though she contracted was to thee,
Our patient sovereign did attend Given to another thou didst see
His long misfortunes' fatal end; Given to another, who had store
How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, Of fairer and of richer wives before,
On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend; And not a Leah left, thy recompense to be! I ought to be accurst, if I refuse Go on ; twice seven years more thy fortune try; To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! Twice seven years more God in his bounty may Kings have long hands, they say; and, though I be Give thee, to fling away
So distant, they may reach at length to me. Into the court's deceitful lottery:
However, of all the princes, thou But think how likely 'tis that thou,
Should'st not reproach rewards for being small or
And that too after death."
Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile,
The melancholy Cowley said
The ills which thou thyself hast made ?
And my abused soul didst bear
Thy golden Indies in the air ;
My ravish'd freedom to regain ;
There is a sort of stubborn weeds,
No wholesome herb can near them thrive,
Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know,
But ever ebb and ever flow!
Thou golden shower of a true Jove!
Hail, active Nature's watchful life and heal:h!
Her joy, her ornament, and wealth !
Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee!
Say, from what golden quivers of the sky
The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume Do all thy winged arrows fly?
A body's privilege to assume,
Vanish again invisibly,
All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes, 'Tis, I believe, this archery to show,
Is but thy several liveries; That so much cost in colours thou,
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, And skill in painting, dost bestow,
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow. Swift as light thoughts their empty career run, A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st; Thy race is finish'd when begun;
A crown of studded gold thou bear'st; Let a post-angel start with thee,
The virgin-lilies, in their white, And thou the goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as he. Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, The violet, Spring's little infant, stands Dost thy bright wood of stars survey !
Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands And all the year dost with thee bring
On the fair tulip thou dost doat; Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal Thou cloth’st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat spring
With flame condens'd thou do'st thy jewels fix, Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above And solid colours in it mix : The Sun's gilt tents for ever move,
Flora herself envies to see And still, as thou in pomp dost go,
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.
Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand withhold,
And be less liberal to gold ! Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn
Did'st thou less value to it give, The humble glow-worms to adorn,
Of how much care, alas! might'st thou poor man And with those living spangles gild
relieve! (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field.
To me the Sun is more delightful far,
And all fair days much fairer are. Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright,
But few, ah! wondrous few, there be, And Sleep, the lazy owl of night ;
Who do not gold prefer, O goddess ! ev'n to thee, Asham’d, and fearful to appear, They screen their horrid shapes with the black Through the soft ways of Heaven, and air, and sea, hemisphere.
Which open all their pores to thee,
Like a clear river thou dost glide, With them there hastes, and wildly takes th’alarm, And with thy living stream through the close chanOf painted dreams a busy swarm :
nels slide. At the first opening of thine eye The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o'erflows; The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts,
Takes there possession, and does make,
Nature to thee does reverence pay,
But the vast ocean of unbounded day,
In th' empyræan Heaven does stay. At thy appearance, Grief itself is said
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, To shake his wings, and rouse his head: From thence took first their rise, thither at last And cloudy Care has often took
must flow. A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look,
At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
Hore! whose weak being ruin'd is, To the cbeek colour comes, and firmness to the Alike, if it succeed, and if it miss ; knee.
Whom good or ill does equally confound,
And both the horns of Fate's dilemma wound: Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face,
Vain shadow! which does vanish quite, Blushes, if thou be'st in the place,
Both at full noon and perfect night! To Darkness' curtains he retires;
The stars have not a possibility In sympathising night he rolls his smoky fires.
Of blessing thee;
If things then from their end we happy call,
Out of the morning's purple bed,
Hope! thou bold taster of delight, [quite! And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. ! Who, whilst thou should'st but taste, devour'st it
Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor,
Fruition more deceitful is By clogging it with legacies before !
Than thou canst be, when thou dost miss ; The joys which we entire should wed,
Men leave thee by obtaining, and straight flee Come deflower'd virgins to our bed ;
Some other way again to thee; Good fortunes without gain imported be,
And that's a pleasant country, without doubt, Such mighty custom's paid to thee.
To which all soon return that travel out.
Hope ! Fortune's cheating lottery ! | CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA. Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be ;
DE SENE VERONENSI, QUI SUBURBIUM NUNQUAM Fond archer, Hope! who tak’st thy aim so far, That still or short or wide thine arrows are ! Thin, empty cloud, which th' eye deceives
Felix, qui patriis, &c. With shapes that our own fancy gives !
HAPPY the man, who his whole time doth bound A cloud, which gilt and painted now appears, Within th' enclosure of his little ground. But must drop presently in tears !
Happy the man, whom the same humble place When thy false beams o’er Reason's light prevail, By ignes fatui for north-stars we sail.
(Th' hereditary cottage of his race)
From his first rising infancy has known, Brother of Fear, more gayly clad !
And by degrees sees gently bending down,
With natural propension, to that earth The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad :
Which both preserv'd his life, and gave him birth. Sire of Repentance! child of fond Desire !
Him no false distant lights, by fortune set,
Could ever into foolish wanderings get.
He never dangers either saw or fear’d:
i The dreadful storms at sea he never heard. By thee the one does changing Nature, through
He never heard the shrill alarms of war, Her endless labyrinths, pursue ;
Or the worse noises of the lawyers'. bar. And th' other chases woman, whilst she goes
No change of consuls marks to him the year,
The change of seasons is his calendar.
He measures time by land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the dial of his ground. Hope! of all ills that men endure,
A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he sees, The only cheap and universal cure !
And loves his old contemporary trees.
Thou manna, which from Heaven we eat, Does with a like concernment notice take
Of the Red-sea, and of Benacus' lake.
And sees a long posterity of boys. Thou pleasant, honest flatterer ! for none
About the spacious world let others roam,
The voyage, life, is longest made at home.
Who out of Fortune's reach dost stand, WELL, then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy We certain are to gain,
Does of all meats the soonest cloy ; Whether she her bargain break or else fulfil;
And they, methinks, deserve my pity, Thou only good, not worse for ending ill!
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 ! Happiness itself's all one
And a few friends, and many books, both true, In thee, or in possession !
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And, since love ne'er will from me flee,
Only belov’d, and loving me!
Oh, fountains ! when in you shall I Thou Way, that may'st dispute it with the End ! Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy ? For love, I fear, 's a fruit that does delight Oh fields! oh woods ! when, when shall I be made The taste itself less than the smell and sight.
The happy tenant of your shade ?