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Both. We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Bright dawn of our eternal Day;
We saw Thine eyes break from their


To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King Of simple graces and sweet loves,

Each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves;

Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselves become our own best sacrifice!






If thou canst get but thither, HENRY VAUGHAN (1622–1695)

There grows the flower of peace,

The rose that can not wither,

Thy fortress and thy ease.

Leave then thy foolish ranges, Happy those early days, when I

For none can thee secure Shined in my angel-infancy;

But one who never changes,
Before I understood this place

Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought 5
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above

A mile or two from my first love,
And looking back at that short space- I saw Eternity the other night,
Could see a glimpse of His bright face; 10 Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
When on some gilded cloud or flower

All calm, as it was bright; My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And round beneath it, Time, in hours, And in those weaker glories spy

days, years, Some shadows of eternity;

Driv'n by the spheres Before I taught my tongue to wound 15 Like a vast shadow moved; in which the My conscience with a sinful sound,

world Or' had the black art to dispense,

And all her train were hurled. A several sin to every sense,

The doting lover in his quaintest strain But felt through all this fleshly dress

Did there complain; Bright shoots of everlastingness.

Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his O how I long to travel back,

flights, And tread again that ancient track!

Wit's four delights, That I might once more reach that plain, With gloves and knots, the silly snares of Where first I left my glorious train;

pleasure; From whence the enlightened spirit sees 25

Yet his dear treasure, That shady city of palm trees.

All scattered lay, while he his eyes did But ah! my soul with too much stay

pour Is drunk, and staggers in the way!

Upon a flower.

15 Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; 30

The darksome statesman, hung with And when this dust falls to the urn,

weights and woe, In that state I came, return.

Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so


He did not stay nor go;

Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, PEACE


Upon his soul, My soul, there is a country

And clouds of crying witnesses without Afar beyond the stars,

Pursued him with one shout; Where stands a winged sentry

Yet digged the mole, and lest his ways be All skilful in the wars.

found, There, above noise and danger,

Worked under ground, Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles, where he did clutch his prey. But one And one born in a manger

25 Commands the beauteous files.

That policy: He is thy gracious friend,

Churches and altars fed him; perjuries And my soul, awake!

Were gnats and flies; Did in pure love descend

It rained about him blood and tears, but he To die here for thy sake.

Drank them as free.




did see


The fearful miser on a heap of rust

It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 5 Sat pining all his life there, did scarce The pale which held that lovely deer; trust

My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
His own hands with the dust, Did all within this circle move.
Yet would not place one piece above, but

A narrow compass, and yet there
In fear of thieves.

35 Dwelt all that's good and all that's fair; 10 Thousands there were as frantic as him- Give me but what this ribband bound, self,

Take all the rest the sun goes round!
And hugged each one his pelf;
The downright epicure placed heaven in

And scorned pretence;
While others, slipped into a wide ex-

Go, lovely rose!


Tell her that wastes her time and me, Said little less;

That now she knows, The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares en

When I resemble her to thee, slave, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

5 Who think them brave; And poor, despised Truth sat counting by Tell her that's young, Their victory.


And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung
Yet some, who all this while did


In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died. And sing and weep, soared up into the ring;

Small is the worth
But most would use no wing.
O fools, said I, thus to prefer dark night Bid her come forth,

Of beauty from the light retired;
Before true light!


Suffer herself to be desired, To live in grots and caves, and hate the

And not blush so to be admired.

15 day Because it shows the way,

Then die! that she
The way, which from this dead and dark

The common fate of all things rare
Leads up to God;

May read in thee;
A way where you might tread the sun, and

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair! be

More bright than he!
But, as I did their madness so discuss,
One whispered thus:

ANDREW MARVELL (1621–1678) “This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide

AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMBut for his bride."





EDMUND WALLER (1606–1687)

The forward youth that would appear
Must now forsake his muses dear,

Nor in the shadows sing
His numbers languishing:


That which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.

'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 5
And oil the unused armor's rust,

Removing from the wall
The corselet of the hall.


So restless Cromwell would not cease
In the inglorious arts of peace,

But through adventurous war
Urgèd his active star;

That thence the royal actor borne
The tragic scaffold might adorn,

While round the armed bands
Did clap their bloody hands.



And, like the three-forked lightning, first He nothing common did, or mean,
Breaking the clouds where it was nursed, Upon that memorable scene,
Did thorough his own side


But with his keener eye His fiery way divide;

The axe's edge did try; For 'tis all one to courage high,

Nor called the gods with vulgar spite The emulous, or enemy,

To vindicate his helpless right, And with such to inclose,

But bowed his comely head Is more than to oppose.

Down, as upon a bed.


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Could by industrious valor climb
To ruin the great work of Time,
And cast the kingdoms old,

Into another mould,
Though Justice against Fate complain,
And plead the ancient rights in vain;

But those do hold or break,
As men are strong or weak.

Nature, that hateth emptiness,
Allows of penetration less,

And therefore must make room

Where greater spirits come.
What field of all the civil war,
Where his were not the deepest scar?

And Hampton shows what part

He had of wiser art;
Where, twining subtle fears with hope,
He wove a net of such a scope

That Charles himself might chase
To Caresbrooke's narrow case,

la kind of pear.

He to the Commons' feet presents
A kingdom for his first year's rents;

And, what he may, forbears
His fame, to make it theirs;


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But thou, the war's and Fortune's son,
March undefatigably on;

And for the least effect,

115 Still keep the sword erect;

Well then! I now do plainly see

This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. Besides the force it has to fright

The very honey of all earthly joy The spirits of the shady night,

Does of all meats the soonest cloy; The same arts that did gain

And they, methinks, deserve my pity 5 A power, must it maintain.

Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd and buzz and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city.
ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618–1667)

Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave

May I a small house and large garden Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;

have, Love walks the pleasant mazes of her

And a few friends, and many books, both hair;

true, Love does on both her lips forever stray,

Both wise, and both delightful too! And sows and reaps a thousand kisses

And since love ne'er will from me flee, there.

A mistress moderately fair, In all her outward parts Love's always

And good as guardian angels are, 15

Only beloved, and loving me. seen;

5 But oh! he never went within!

O fountains! when in you shall I Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, Myself, eased of unpeaceful thoughts, abide:

espy? Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride.

O fields! O woods! when, when shall I be So the earth's face trees, herbs, and

made flowers do dress,

The happy tenant of your shade? But with other beauties numberless; Here's the spring-head of pleasure's But at the center darkness is, and hell,

flood: There wicked spirits, and there the Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, damned, dwell.

Where all the riches lie that she resolute.

Has coined and stamped for good.



1 Scot.

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