O How I grieve, dear Earth! that, given to gays,
Most of our wits contemn thee now-a-days;
And noblest hearts proudly abandon quite.
The study of herbs, and Country-life's delight!-
O thrice, thrice happy he, who shuns the cares
Of city-troubles, and of state affairs ;-
And serving Ceres, tills with his own team,
His own free land, left by his friends to him!
Never fell Envy's poisonous heads do hiss
To gnaw his heart! nor vulture Avarice;
His field's bounds bound his thoughts; he never sups
For nectar, poison mixt in silver cups :
His hands his bowl, better than plate or glass,
The silver brook his sweetest hypocrass.
Milk, cheese, and fruit, fruits of his own endeavour,
Drest without dressing, hath he ready ever.
No fained chiding, no soul-jarring noise
Break his cool brain, or interrupt his joys,
But cheerful birds, chirping him sweet good-morrows,
With nature's music do beguile his sorrows :
Teaching the fragrant forests day by day,
The diapason of their heavenly lay,
And leading all his life at home in peace,
Always in sight of his own smoke; no seas,
No other seas he knows, nor other torrent,
Than that which waters with his silver current
His native meadows; and that very earth
Shall give him burial, which first gave him birth.
To summon timely sleep, he doth not need
Æthiop's cold rush, nor drowsy poppy-seed,
But on green carpets, thrumm'd with mossy beaver,
Fringing the round skirts of his winding river,
The stream's mild murmur, as it gently gushes,
His healthy limbs in quiet slumber hushes.
Drum, fife and trumpet, with their loud alarms
Make him not start out of his sleep to arms;
The crested cock sings his proud note to him,
Limits his rest, and makes him stir betime
To walk the mountains, or the flowery meads,
Impearl'd with tears that sweet Aurora sheds;
And the open sky, where at full breath he lives,
Still keeps him sound, and still new stomach gives;
And Death, dread servant of the eternal Judge,
Comes very late to his sole-seated lodge.
His wretched years in Princes' courts he spends not,
His thralled mind on great men's wills depends not,
But all self-private, serving God, he writes
Fearless, and sings but what his heart indites.
Let me, good Lord! among the Great unkenn'd,
My rest of days in the calm country end;
My company, pure thoughts to work Thy will;
My court, a cottage on a lowly hill.
OH thou great Power! in whom I move,
For whom I live, to whom I die,
Behold me through Thy beams of Love,
Whilst on this Couch of Tears I lie;
And cleanse my sordid soul within
By Thy Christ's blood, the Bath of Sin.
No hallow'd Oils, no grains I need,
No rags of Saints, no purging Fire,
One rosy drop from David's seed,
Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire,
O precious Ransom! which once paid,
That Consummatum est was said;
And said by Him that said no more,
But seal'd it with His Sacred Breath,-
Thou, then, that hast dispong'd my score,
And dying wast the death of Death,
Be to me now, on Thee I call,
My LIFE, my STRENGTH, my JOY, my ALL!
ON THE SUDDEN FALL OF A GREAT MAN.
DAZZLED thus with height of place,
Whilst our hopes our wits beguile,
No man marks the narrow space
'Twixt a Prison and a Smile.
Then, since Fortune's favours fade,
You that in her arms do sleep,
Learn to swim, and not to wade;
For the hearts of Kings are deep.
But if Greatness be so blind
As to trust in Towers of Air,
Let it be with Goodness lin'd,
That at least the Fall be fair.
Then, though dark'ned, you shall say,
When Friends fail, and Princes frown,
Virtue is the roughest way,
But proves at night a Bed of Down.
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