When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, linnet-like confinèd, I With shriller note shall sing The mercy, sweetness, majesty, Th' enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds, innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage: If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free; Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. "THE GLORIES OF OUR BIRTH AND STATE." BY JAMES SHIRLEY. [JAMES SHIRLEY was born in London, in 1594, and studied both at Oxford and Cambridge. He took orders, then taught in a school, and afterwards wrote plays; but the theatres being suppressed by Parliament, he again became a teacher, and published some elementary works. The losses and misery caused to him by the Great Fire of London brought on an illness which caused his death, in 1666. His poems show that his talents were enlisted in the cause of virtue ; and they well agree with the blameless life he led.] THE glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hands on kings; Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds: All heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. |