Carlisle ! a name which all our woods are taught
Loud as their Amaryllis to resound:

Carlisle! a name which on the bark is wrought
Of every tree that's worthy of the wound.
From Phoebus' rage our shadows and our streams
May guard us better than from Carlisle's beams.

TO PHYLLIS.

PHYLLIS! 'twas Love that injured you,
And on that rock your Thyrsis threw,
Who for proud Cælia could have died,
While you no less accused his pride.

Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he sows:
From foes discharged as often meet
The shining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire,
As souls that join in one desire.

Love made the lovely Venus burn
In vain, and for the cold youth' mourn,
Who the pursuit of churlish beasts
Preferred to sleeping on her breasts.

Love makes so many hearts the prize
Of the bright Carlisle's conquering eyes,
Which she regards no more than they
The tears of lesser beauties weigh.
So have I seen the lost clouds pour
Into the sea an useless shower,
And the vex'd sailors curse the rain,
For which poor shepherds pray'd in vain.
Then, Phyllis, since our passions are
Govern'd by chance, and not the care

1 Adonis.

But sport of Heaven, which takes delight
To look upon this Parthian fight
Of Love, still flying or in chase,
Never encountering face to face,
No more to Love we'll sacrifice,
But to the best of deities;

And let our hearts, which Love disjoin'd,
By this kind mother be combined.

TO MY

LORD OF NORTHUMBERLAND,

UPON THE DEATH OF HIS LADY.

To this great loss a sea of tears is due,
But the whole debt not to be paid by you :
Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain
Those showers the eyes of us your servants rain.
Shall grief contract the largeness of that heart
In which nor fear nor anger has a part? [dries,
Virtue would blush if time should boast (which
Her sole child dead, the tender mother's eyes)
Your mind's relief, where reason triumphs so
Over all passions, that they ne'er could grow
Beyond their limits in your noble breast,
To harm another, or impeach your rest.
This we observed, delighting to obey
One who did never from his great self stray;
Whose mild example seemed to engage
The' obsequious seas, and teach them not to rage.

The brave Æmilius, his great charge laid down, (The force of Rome, and fate of Macedon) In his lost sons did feel the cruel stroke

Of changing fortune, and thus highly spoke

you

Before Rome's people: We did oft implore
That if the Heavens had any bad in store
For your Æmilius, they would pour that ill
On his own house, and let flourish still.'
You on the barren seas, my Lord, have spent
Whole springs, and summers to the public lent;
Suspended all the pleasures of your life,
And shorten'd the short joy of such a wife;
For which your country's more obliged than
For many lives of old less happy men.
You that have sacrificed so great a part
Of youth, and private bliss, ought to impart
Your sorrow too, and give your friends a right
As well in your affliction as delight.

Then with Emilian courage bear this cross,
Since public persons only public loss

Ought to affect. And though her form and youth,
Her application to your will and truth,

That noble sweetness, and that humble state,
(All snatch'd away by such a hasty fate!)
Might give excuse to any common breast,
With the huge weight of so just grief oppress'd;
Yet let no portion of your life be stain'd
With passion, but your character maintain'd
To the last act. It is enough her stone
May honour'd be with superscription
Of the sole lady, who had power to move
The great Northumberland to grieve and love.

TO MY LORD ADMIRAL,

OF HIS LATE SICKNESS AND RECOVERY.

WITH joy like ours the Thracian youth invades
Orpheus, returning from the' Elysian shades;
Embrace the hero, and his stay implore;
Make it their public suit he would no more
Desert them so, and for his spouse's sake,
His vanish'd love, tempt the Lethean lake.
The ladies, too, the brightest of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who shall the fair Eurydice succeed:
Eurydice! for whom his numerous moan

Makes listening trees and savage mountains groan:
Through all the air his sounding strings dilate
Sorrow like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining sickness, and your restless pain,
At once the land affecting and the main,

When the glad news that
you were Admiral
Scarce through the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all
That our great Charles, whose wisdom shines in you,
Would be perplexed how to choose anew.
So more than private was the joy and grief,
That at the worst it gave our souls relief,
That in our age such sense of virtue lived,
They joy'd so justly, and so justly grieved.
Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems
Herself to suffer in those sharp extremes;
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The stem thus threaten'd, and the sap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!

Their beauty they, and we our love suspend;
Nought can our wishes, save thy health, intend.

As lilies overcharged with rain, they bend [tend;
Their beauteous heads, and with high heaven con-
Fold thee within their snowy arms,
and cry

He is too faultless and too young to die.
So like immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train
To be lamented and restored again?

Or, thus withheld, what hasty soul would go,
Though to the bless'd? O'er young Adonis so
Fair Venus mourn'd, and with the precious shower
Of her warm tears cherish'd the springing flower.
The next support, fair hope of your great name,
And second pillar of that noble frame,
By loss of thee would no advantage have,
But step by step pursue thee to the grave.
And now relentless Fate, about to end
The line which backward does so far extend
The antique stock, which still the world supplies
With bravest spirits and with brightest eyes,
Kind Phoebus, interposing, bid me say, [they
Such storms no more shall shake that house, but
Like Neptune, and his sea-born niece', shall be ·
The shining glories of the land and sea;
With courage guard and beauty warm our age,
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

TO VANDYCK.

RARE artisan! whose pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves;
From thy shop of Beauty we
Slaves return that enter'd free.

1 Venus.