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With which I'll pave and overspread
Amongst the rest the tamarisk there stood,
THE WATER-GODS RESTORE MARINA, ADMINISTER AN OBLIVI
ous DRAUGHT, AND CONDUCT HER TO A GROVE. - THE GROVE DESCRIBED ; TREES AND THEIR QUALITIES.
Then walked they to a grove but near at hand, Where fiery Titan had but small command, Because the leaves conspiring kept his beams, For fear of hurting, when he is in extremes, The under-flowers, which did enrich the ground . With sweeter scents than in Arabia found. [hale, The earth doth yield, which they through pores exEarth's best of odors, the aromatical : Like to that smell, which oft our sense descries Within a field which long unploughéd lies, Somewhat before the setting of the sun ; And where the rainbow in the horizon Doth pitch her tips ; or as when in the prime, The earth being troubled with a drought long time, The hand of heaven his spongy clouds doth strain, And throws into her lap a shower of rain ; She sendeth up (conceived from the sun) A sweet perfume and exhalation. Not all the ointments brought from Delos' isle, Nor from the confines of seven-headed Nile ; Nor that brought whence Phænicians have abodes ; Nor Cyprus' wild vine-flowers; nor that of Rhodes ; Nor rose's oil from Naples, Capua ; Saffron confected in Cilicia ; Nor that of quinces, nor of marjoram, That ever from the isle of Coös came. Nor these, nor any else, though ne'er so rare, Could with this place for sweetest smells compare. There stood the elm, whose shade so mildly dim Doth nourish all that groweth under him. Cypress that like pyramids run topping, And hurt the least of any by their dropping. The alder, whose fat shadow nourisheth, Each plant set near to him long flourisheth. The heavy-headed plane-tree, by whose shade The grass grows thickest, men are fresher made. The oak, that best endures the thunder shocks ; The everlasting ebony, cedar, box; The olive that in wainscot never cleaves ; The amorous vine which in the elm still weaves. The lotus, juniper, where worms ne'er enter : The pine, with whom men through the ocean venture; The warlike yew, by which (more than the lance) The strong-armed English spirits conquered France.
SIMILE OF THE BRIDAL ; MAIDS STREWING RUSHES, HERBS,
AND FLOWERS, IN THE PATH OF THE BETROTHED.
STREAM COMPARED TO THE UNSUCCESSFUL RHYMESTER AUTHOR.
- THE COURSE AND ACTION OF A STREAX. Thus while the flood which yet the rock up-pent, And suffered not with jocund merriment To tread rounds in his spring, came rushing forth, As angry that his waves, he thought, of worth Should not have liberty, nor help the prime. And as some ruder swain, composing rhyme, Spends many a gray goose-quill unto the handle, Buries within his socket many a candle, Blots paper by the quire, and dries up ink, As Xerxes' army did whole rivers drink, Hoping thereby his name his work should raise, That it should live until the last of days ; Which finished, he boldly doth address Him and his works to undergo the press ;
1 See Spenser's Faëry Queene, b. i., c. i., st. 8, 9.
When, lo, O fate! his work not seeming fit
The mounting lark (day's herald) got on wing,
0, true delight! enharboring the breasts
THE SHEPHERDS' HOLIDAY ; DANCE ; NAMES. Come, drive your sheep to their appointed feeding, And make you one at this, our merry meeting. Full many a shepherd with his lovely lass Sit telling tales upon the clover grass ; There is the merry shepherd of the hole ; Thenot, Piers, Nilkin, Duddy, Hobbinoll, Alexis, Silvan, Teddy of the glen, Rowly, and Perigot, here by the fen, With many more, I cannot reckon all That meet to solemnize this festival.
I grieve not at their mirth, said Doridon ; Yet had there been of feasts not any one, Appointed or commanded, you will say, Where there's content 't is ever holiday.'
Leave further talk, quoth Remond, let 's be gone, I'll help you with your sheep, the time draws on. Fida will call the hind, and come with us.
Thus went they on, and Remond did discuss Their cause of meeting, till they won with pacing The circuit chosen for the maiden's tracing. SCENE OF THE DANCE DESCRIBED ; THE MUSIC AND MAIDS.
It was a rundle seated on a plain, That stood as sentinel unto the main, Environed round with trees and many an arbor, Wherein melodious birds did nightly harbor ; And on a bough wit" in the quickening spring, Would be a-teaching of their young to sing ; Whose pleasing notes the tired swain have made To steal a nap at noontide in the shade. Nature herself did there in triumph ride, And made that place the ground of all her pride. Whose various flowers deceived the rasher eye, In taking them for curious tapestry. A silver spring forth of a rock did fall, That in a drought did serve to water all.
THE SLEEP OF INNOCENCE ; NURSE ; BABE ; THE DEAD GIRL.
But as when some kind nurse doth long time keep Her pretty babe at suck, whom fallen asleep She lays down in his cradle, stints his cry With many a sweet and pleasing lullaby ; Whilst the sweet child, not troubled with the shock, As sweetly slumbers as his nurse doth rock. So laid the maid, the amazed swain sat weeping, And death in her was dispossessed by sleeping. The roaring voice of winds, the billows raves, Nor all the muttering of the sullen waves, Could once disquiet, or her slumber stir ; But lulled her more asleep than wakened her. Such are their states whose souls from foul offence Enthronéd sit in spotless innocence.
NIGHT, THE NIGHTINGALE, AND THE LOVER. Now had the glorious sun ta'en up his inn, And all the lamps of heaven enlightened been, Within the gloomy shades of some thick spring, Sad Philomela 'gan on the hawthorn sing Whilst every beast at rest was lowly laid The outrage done upon a silly maid. All things were hushed, each bird slept on his bough; And night gave rest to him day-tired at plough ; Each beast, each bird, and each day-toiling wight, Received the comfort of the silent night ; Free from the gripes of sorrow every one, Except poor Philomel and Doridon ; She on a thorn sings sweet though sighing strains; He on a couch more soft, more sad complains ; Whose in-pent thoughts him long time having pained, He sighing wept, and weeping thus complained. **
A MORNING CONCERT OP BIRDS. Two nights thus passed. The lily-banded morn Saw Phæbus stealing dew from Ceres' corn.
Upon the edges of a grassy bank,
Gentle nymphs, be not refusing,
They and beauty are but lent you ;
Beauty gone you will repent you. 'T will be said, when ye have proved, Never swains more truly loved ;
0, then fly all nice behavior. Pity fain would, as her duty, Be attending still on beauty,
Let her not be out of favor. Disdain is now so much rewarded, That pity weeps since she is unregarded.
THE DANCING DESCRIBED.
As when some gale of wind doth nimbly take A fair, white lock of wool, and with it make Some pretty driving ; here it sweeps the plain, There stays, here hops, there mounts, and turns Yet all so quick, that none so soon can say (again; That now it stops, or leaps, or turns away : So was their dancing, none looked thereupon, But thought their several motions to be one.
A crooked measure was their first election, Because all crooked tends to best perfection. And as I ween this often bowing measure Was chiefly framed for the women's pleasure, Though, like the rib, they crooked are and bending, Yet to the best of forms they aim their ending : Next in an (I) their measure made a rest, Showing when love is plainest it is best. Then in a (Y) which thus doth love commend, Making of two at first, one in the end. And lastly closing in a round do enter, Placing the lusty shepherds in the centre : About the swains they dancing seemed to roll, As other planets round the heavenly pole. Who, by their sweet aspect or chiding frown, Could raise a shepherd up or cast him down.
THE SHEPHERD'S DANCING SONG.
Happy are you so enclosed,
In their gestures and their dances,
Fortune's smile with happy chances.
In a shepherdess disguising.
To the eye so much enticing ?
The measure and the song here being ended,
When I my flock near you do keep,
Poor wretch, he knows more care I keep
To get you than a silly sheep.
Bid me to sing, fair maid, my song shall prove,
That ne'er has truer pipe sung truer love.
These will keep your hands from burning,
heart from your fair eyes? The fourth, an anagram. – Maiden aid men :
Maidens should be aiding men,
And for love give love again : * * *
Nature hath framed a gem beyond compare,
The world's the ring, but you the jewel are. The sixth, a nosegay of roses, with a nettle in it :
Such is the poesie love composes,
A stinging-nettle mixed with roses. The seventh, a girdle : This during light I give to clip your waist ; Fair, grant mine arms that place when day is past.
THE DANCE DISTURBED BY AN ALARM.
Whilst every one was offering at the shrine Of such rare beauties might be styled divine, This lamentable voice towards them flies : 0 Heaven, send aid, or else a maiden dies!' Herewith some ran the way the voice them led ; Some with the maidens stayed, who shook for dread; What was the cause time serves not now to tell. Hark! for my jolly wether rings his bell, And almost all our flocks have left to graze ; Shepherds, 't is almost night, hie home apace ; When next we meet, as we shall meet ere long, I'll tell the rest in some ensuing song.
Rural Odes for June.
WRITTEN IN WHICH WOOD FOREST.
Nor fell disease, before his time,
THE hinds how blest, who, ne'er beguiled To quit their hamlet's hawthorn wild, Nor baunt the crowd, nor tempt the main, For splendid care, and guilty gain !
BRYANT'S “SONG OF WOOING.”
Dost thou idly ask to hear
At what gentle seasons Nymphs relent, when lovers near
Press the tenderest reasons ? Ah, they give their faith too oft
To the careless wooer ; Maidens' hearts are always soft,
Would that men's were truer !
Woo the fair one, when around
Early birds are singing ;
Early herbs are springing :
All with blossoms laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love,
Woo the timid maiden.
When morning's twilight-tinctured beam Strikes their low thatch with slanting gleam, They rove abroad in ether blue, To dip the scythe in fragrant dew, The sheaf to bind, the beech to fell, That, nodding, shades a craggy dell.
'Midst gloomy glades, in warbles clear, Wild nature's sweetest notes they hear : On green, untrodden banks they view The hyacinth's neglected hue ; In their lone haunts and woodland rounds, They spy the squirrel's airy bounds ; And startle from her ashen spray, Across the glen, the screaming jay ; Each native charm their stops explore Of Solitude's sequestered store.
For them the moon, with cloudless ray,
The little sons, who spread the bloom
Their humble porch with honoyed flowers
Woo her, when, with rosy blush,
Summer eve is sinking ; When, on rills that softly gush,
Stars are softly winking ; When, through boughs that knit the bower,
Moonlight gleams are stealing ; Woo her, till the gentle hour
Wakes a gentler feeling. Woo her, when autumnal dyes
Tinge the woody mountain ; When the drooping foliage lies
In the half-choked fountain ;
Youth is passing over,
To secure her lover.
Woo her, when the north winds call
At the lattice nightly ;
Blaze the fagots brightly ;
Sweeps the landscape hoary, Sweeter in her ear shall sound
Love's delightful story.
DAWES'S “ SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.”
The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light,
There is no cloud that sails along
To give it melody,
All gleaming like red gold ;
Their merry course they hold.
Who, far above this earth,
And vent a nobler mirth.
But, soft ! mine ear upcaught a sound
From yonder wood it came ; The spirit of the dim green glade
Did breathe his own glad name. Yes, it is he! the hermit bird,
That, apart from all his kind, Slow spells his beads monotonous
To the soft western wind. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! he sings again
His notes are void of art. But simplest strains do soonest sound
The deep founts of the heart.
MOTHERWELL'S “SUMMER MONTHS."
Good Lord ! it is a gracious boon
For thought-crazed wight like me, To smell again these summer flowers,
Beneath this summer tree ! To suck once more,
every breath, Their little souls away, And feed my fancy with fond dreams
Of youth's bright summer day ; When rushing forth, like untamed colt,
The reckless truant boy Wandered through green woods all day long,
A mighty heart of joy!
They come ! the merry Summer months
Of beauty, love, and flowers ;
Thick leafiness to bowers.
Fling work and care aside ;
Where peaceful waters glide ;
Of patriarchal trees,
In rapt tranquillity.
Is grateful to the hand;
The breeze is sweet and bland;
Are nodding courteously ;
I'm sadder now — - I have had cause ;
But, 0 ! I'm proud to think
I yet delight to drink ;
The calm, unclouded sky,
As in the days gone by.
Fall round me dark and cold,
A heart that hath waxed old.