My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my goods are but vain hopes of gain. And now I live, and now my life is done! My Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung; And now I live, and now my life is done! HERRICK'S lyrics are among the most sprightly and picturesque that we possess; they are fragrant with the aroma of Spring flowers. Listen to his lines addressed to "Primroses filled with morning dew:"_ Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teem'd her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years, Or warp'd, as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known Ye droop and weep: Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or, that ye have not seen as yet Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow, shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read,— "That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth." What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. Now let us rehearse that famous old song of MARLOWE, the favorite of that honest philosopher, angler, and right worthy gentleman, Izaac Walton: Come live with me and be my love, Here is the opening passage of a poem by DANIEL, who, for the vigor of his verse, was styled the Atticus of his day He that of such a height hath built his mind, He also wrote the following sprightly song: Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing ; A plant that most with cutting, grows; More we enjoy it, more it dies; Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; Not well, nor full, nor fasting: |