A thousand liveried angels lacky her, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, John Milton. MUSIC. Ar last a soft and solemn-breathing sound Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul John Milton. FAME. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise To scorn delights and live laborious days: John Milton. ON SHAKESPEARE. WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Hast built thyself a livelong monument. John Milton. ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent E'er half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; Doth God exact day labor, light deny'd, I fondly ask? but patience to prevent That murmur soon replies, God doth not need EITHER man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait. John Milton GO, LOVELY ROSE. Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended lied. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Edmund Waller, 1605-'87. SONG TO MORPHEUS. MORPHEUS, the humble god, that dwells Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; Come, I say, thou powerful god, O'er his wakeful temples shake, Nature, alas! why art thou so And both are the same thing at last. VIRGIN PURITY. THE morning pearls, Dropt in the lily's spotless bosom, are William Chamberlayne, 1619-'89. THE DEPOSITION. THOUGH When I lov'd thee thou wert rair, Thou art no longer so: Those glories, all the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrow'd lustre shine, And 't was my love that gave thee thine. The flames that dwelt within thine eye Love's fires thus mutual influence return; Then, proud Celinda, hope no more Since by thy scorn thou dost restore And thy despis'd disdain too late shall find Thomas Stanley, 1625-'78 LA BELLE CONFIDANTE. You earthly souls that court a wanton flame Can rise no higher than the humble name Learn by our friendship to create An immaterial fire, Whose brightness angels may admire, Sickness may fright the roses from her check, But all the subtle ways that death doth seek THE NEW YEAR. Thomas Stanley. HARK! the cock crows; and yon bright star Tells us, the day himself's not far. And see where, breaking from the night, He gilds the western hills with light? Peeping into the future year, When the prophetic fear of things. Charles Cotton, 1630-'87. REASON AND RELIGION. DIM as the borrowed beams of moon and stars, A SIMILE. TILL, like a clock worn out with beating time. MEN. MEN are but children of a larger growth; ALEXANDER'S FEAST; An Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. John Dryden TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won, By Philip's warlike son: Aloft in awful state |