XIII TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song That with smooth air couldst humour best our Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing XIV ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 16, 1646 WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod ; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever. Love led them on; and Faith, who knew them best Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. XV ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays (For what can war but endless war still breed?) XVI TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652 ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COM- CROMWELL, Our chief of men, who through a cloud To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw. XVII TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled Whether to settle peace, or to unfold The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled; In all her equipage; besides, to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, The bounds of either sword to thee we owe : XVIII ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, Forget not in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe. XIX [ON HIS BLINDNESS] WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, His state XX [TO MR. LAWRENCE] LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, From the hard season gaining? The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire He who of those delights can judge, and spare XXI [TO CYRIACK SKINNER] CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. XXII [TO THE SAME] CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear, P Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask Content, though blind, had I no better guide. XXIII [ON HIS DECEASED WIFE] METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the Old Law did save, And such as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind. Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear as in no face with more delight. But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. |