« PreviousContinue »
The sacred tree 'midst the fair orchard grew
The Phønix Truth did on it rest,
And built his perfum'd nest,
Each leaf did learned notions give,
And th' apples were demonstrative:
The very shade they cast did other lights outshine.
Love was with thy life entwin'd,
More enflam'd thy amorous rage. In the following verses we have an allusion to a Rabbinical opinion concerning Manna:
Variety I ask not: give me one
Like manna, has the taste of all in it. Thus Donne shews his medicinal knowledge in some en comiastic verses:
In every thing there naturally grows
If 'twere not injur'd by extrinsic blows;
But you, of learning and religion,
A mithridate, whose operation
Keeps off, or cures what can be done or said. Though the following lines of Donne, on the last night of the year, have something in them too scholastic, they are not inelegant:
This twilight of two years, not past nor next,
Some emblem is of me, or I of this,
Whose what and where in disputation is,
If I should call me any thing, should miss.
Debtor to th' old, nor creditor to th' new.
Nor trust I this with hopes; and yet scarce true
Lust, the scorching dog-star, here
Rages with immoderate heat;
In others makes the cold too great.
A Lover, burnt up by his affection, is compared to Egypt:
The fate of Egypt I sustain,
But all my too much moisture owe
COWLEY. The Lover supposes his Lady acquainted with the ancient laws of augury and rites of sacrifice:
And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Shall sigh out that too, with my breath. That the chaos was harmonized, has been recited of old; but whence the different sounds arose remained for a modern to discover:
Th'ungovern'd parts no correspondence knew;
COWLEY. The tears of lovers are always of great poetical account; but Donne has extended them into worlds. If the lines are not easily understood, they may be read again.
On a round ball
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
So doth each tear,
Which thee doth wear,
This world, by waters sent from thee my heaven dissolved so.
All arm'd in brass, the richest dress of war,
An universal consternation:
His bloody eyes he hurls round, his sharp paws
Their fictions were often violent and unnatural.
Of his Mistress bathing.
As she at first took me:
Among the waves appear,
The poetical Effect of a Lover's name upon Glass.
My name engrav'd herein
Which, ever since that charm, hath been
Their conceits were sentiments slight and trifling.
On an inconstant Woman.
And no breath stirring hears,
No smallest cloud appears.
Upon a Paper written with the Juice of Lemon, and read by the Fire.
Nothing yet in thee is seen,