Are conveyed hither from each night-born spring? With what loud murmurs do the mountains ring, Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand,

And, full of wonder, overlook the land?

Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright,

This golden people glancing in my sight?

Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise;
What loadstar draweth us all eyes?

Am I awake, or have some dreams conspired
To mock my sense with what I most desired?
View I that living face, see I those looks,

Which with delight were wont t' amaze my brooks?
Do I behold that worth, that man divine,

This age's glory, by these banks of mine!
Then find I true what I long wished in vain ;
My much beloved prince is come again.
So unto them whose zenith is the pole,
When six black months are past, the sun does roll :
So after tempest to sea-tossed wights,
Fair Helen's brothers show their clearing lights:
So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods,
And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods;
The feathered silvans, cloud-like, by her fly,
And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky;
Nile marvels, Serap's priests entranced rave,
And in Mygdonian stone her shape engrave;
In lasting cedars they do mark the time

In which Apollo's bird came to their clime.
Let mother-earth now decked with flowers be seen,
And sweet-breathed zephyrs curl the meadows green
Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower,
Such as on India's shores they used to pour :
Or with that golden storm the fields adorn

Which Jove rained when his blue eyed maid was born.
May never hours the web of day outweave;
May never night risc from her sable cave!
Swell proud my billows, faint not to declare
Your joys as ample as their causes are:
For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp,
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp;
And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair.
Strew all your springs and grots with lilies fair.

Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green,
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:
Right so the pleasures of my life being dead,
Or in their contraries but only seen,

With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,
And (blasted) scarce now shows what it hath been.
Therefore as doth the pilgrim whom the night
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,

Think on thy home (my soul) and think aright,
Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day;
Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn,
And twice it is not given thee to be born.
The weary mariner so fast not flies
An howling tempest, harbour to attain,
Nor shepherd hastes (when frays of wolves arise)
So fast to fold, to save his bleating train,
As I (wing'd with contempt and just disdain)
Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize,
And sanctuary seek, free to remain

From wounds of abject times, and envy's eyes.
To me this world did once seem sweet and fair,
While senses light mind's perspective kept blind;
Now, like imagined landskip, in the air,
And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find :
Or if ought here is had that praise should have,
It is an obscure life, and silent grave.

THE ASCENSION OF CHRIST.

"BRIGHT portals of the sky,

Emboss'd with sparkling stars;

Doors of eternity,

With diamantine bars,

Your arras rich uphold;

Loose all your bolts and springs,

Ope wide your leaves of gold;

That in your roofs may come the King of kings.

"Scarf'd in a rosy cloud,

He doth ascend the air;

Straight doth the Moon him shroud

With her resplendent hair:
The next encrystall'd light
Submits to him its beams;

Not without blood addrest,

With glory Heaven, the Earth to crown with grace.

"

Stars, which all eyes were late,

And did with wonder burn,

His name to celebrate,

In flaming tongues them turn;
Their orby crystals move

More active than before,

And entheate from above,

Their sovereign prince laud, glorify, adore.

"The choirs of happy souls,
Waked with that music sweet,
Whose descant care controls,
Their Lord in triumph meet;
The spotless spirits of light
His trophies do extol,

And, arch'd in squadrons bright,
Greet their great Victor in his capitol.

"O glory of the Heaven!

O sole delight of Earth!
To Thee all power be given,
God's uncreated birth;
Of mankind lover true,

Endurer of his wrong,

Who dost the world renew,

Still be thou our salvation, and our song."

From top of Olivet such notes did rise,

When man's Redeemer did transcend the skies.

Robert Herrick.

{

Born 1591

Died 1674.

BORN in London in 1591. He was presented to the vicarage of Dean Prior in Devonshire by Charles L During the civil wars he was ejected by Cromwell, but at the Restoration was again replaced in his vicarage, where he died in 1674. The poetical works of Herrick were neglected for many years after his death, but since then some of his short lyrical pieces have been set to music, and are still sung, such as "Cherry Ripe," "Gather the Rosebuds. He is also the author of some Hymns.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do you fall so fast?