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POETRY.

HALLOW MY FANCIE,

Anonymous. .

In melancholic fancie

Out of myself,
In the Vulcan dancie,
All the world surveying,
Nowhere staying,

Just like a fairie-elf ;
Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping,
Out o'er the hills, the trees and valleys tripping,
Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping.
Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Amidst the misty vapours,

Fain would I know,
What doth cause the tapours.
Why the clouds benight us,
And affright us,

While we travel here below.
Fain would I know, what makes the roaring thunder,
And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder,
And what these comets are, on which we gaze and wonder.
Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I know the reason,

Why the little ant,
All the summer season,
Layeth up provision,
On condition,

To know no winter's want:
And how huswives, that are so good and painful,
Do upto their husbands prove so good and gainful,
And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou.go?

Ships, ships, will descrie you,

Amidst the main,
I will come and try yoni,
What you are protecting,
And projecting,

What's your end and aim,
VOL. III. New Series.

One goes abroad for merchandise and trading,
Another stays to keep his country from invading,
A third is coming home with rich and wealth of lading.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

When I look before,

There I do behold,
There's none that sees or knows;
All the world's a gadding,
Running madding,

None doth his station hold.
lle that is below, envieth him that riseth,
And he that is above, him that's below despiseth;
So every man his plot and counterplot deviseth.

llallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Look, look what bustling

Here I do espy!
Each other justling,
Every one turmoiling,
Th’other spoiling,

As I did pass them by.
One sitteth musing in a dumpish passion,
Another hangs his head, because he's out of fashion ;
A third is fully bent on sport and recreation.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Amidst the foamy ocean,

Fain would I know,
What doth cause the motion,
And returning
In its journeying,

And doth so seldom swerve!
And how these little fishes, that swim beneath salt watcr.
Do never blind their eye, methinks it is a matter,
An inclı above the reach of old Erra Pater!

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I be resolved

How things are done ;
And where the bull was calsed
Of bloody Plialaris,
And where the tailor is,

That works to the man i' the moon!
Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly;
And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly :
And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thon go?

In conceit like Phaeton,

P'll mount Phæbus' chair :
Hlaving ne'er a hat on,
All my hairs a burning,
In my journeying,

Hurrying through the air.
Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing,
And see how they on foamy bits are piaying,
All the stars and planets I will be surveying!

Hallow my fancic, whither wilt thou go?

O from what ground of nature

Doth the pelican,
That self devouring creature,
Prove so froward,
And untoward

Her vitals for to strain !
And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds is lying,
Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by crying;
And why the inilk-white swan doth sing when she's a dying.

llallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I conclude this,

At least make essay,
What similitude is;
Why fowls of a feather
Flock and fly together,

And lambs know beasts of prey.
How nature's alchymists, these smail laborious creatures,
Acknowledge still a priuce in ordering their matters,
And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their features.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

I'm rapt with admiration

When I do ruminate,
Men of an occupation,
How each one calls him brother,
Yet each envieth other,

And yet still intimate!
Yea I admire to see since nature's farther sundered,
Than Antipodes to us. It is not to be wondered,
In myriads ye'll find, of one mind scarce a hundred !

Ilallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

What multitude of notions

Doth perturb may pate,
Considering the motions,
How the heavens are preserved,
And this world served,

In moisture, light, and heat!

If one spirit sits the outmost circle turning,
Or one turns another continuing in journeying,
If rapid circles motion be that which they call burning.

Hallow my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

Fain also would I prove this,

By considering,
What that, which you call love, is;
Whether it be a folly,
Or a melancholy,

Or some heroic thing!
Paio I'd have it proved, by one whom love hath wounded,
And fully upon one his desire hath founded,
Whom nothing else could please, though the world were rounded.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

To know this world's centre,

Height, depth, breadth, and length,
Fain would I adventure,
To search the hid attractions
Of magnetic actions,

And adamantine strength.
Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain,
Where the moon sujourns, if there be trees, or fountain,
If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to hunt in.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Fain would I have it tried

By experiment,
By none can be denied ;
If in this bulk of nature
There be voids less or greater,

Or all remains complete.
Fain would I know, if beasts have any reason ;
If falcons killing eagles do commit a treason;
If fear of winter's want make swallows fly the season.

Hallow my fancie, whither wilt thou go?

Hallow, my fancie, hallow,

Stay, stay at home with me;
I can thee no longer follow;
For thou hast betrayed me,
And bewrayed me,

It is too much for thee.
Stay, stay at home with me, leave off thy lofty soaring,
Stay thou at home with me, and on thy books be poring,
For he that goes abroad lays little up in storing:
Thou’rt welcome home my fancie, welcome home to me.

THE VIOLET.

By Walter Scots.

TBE violet, in her green wood bower,

Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle; May boast itself the fairest flower

In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue,

Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining; I ve seen an eye of lovelier blue,

More sweet through watry lustre shining

The summer sun that dew shall dry,

Ere yet the day be past its morrow; Nor longer in my false love's eye,

Remain'd the tear of parting sorrow.

TO BLOSSOMS,

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do you fall so fast ?

Your date is not so past ;
But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile;

And go at last.

What were you born to be

An hour or two's delight;

And so to bid good night;
'Twas pity nature brought you forth
Merely to show your worth,

And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we

May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride, Like you awhile, they glide

Into the grave!

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