And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue; THE MIGHT OF INNOCENCE. A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, Oh welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, I see ye visibly, and now believe That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, To keep my life and honour unassailed. Comus. THE LIGHT OF VIRTUE. VIRTUE could see to do what Virtue would VIRTUE By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude; Where with her best nurse Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impaired. SONNETS. Comus. ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE. HOW soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Towards which Time leads me, and the will of heaven. All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-master's eye. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEMONT. A VENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones. To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent WHEN Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide; That murmur, soon replies, 'God doth not need AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. LEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, BLE Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee ; Singing everlastingly : While all the rounds and arches blue Resound and echo Hallelu, That we on earth, with undiscording voice, Jarred against Nature's chime, and with harsh din To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, whilst they stood, In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light! FLY, ON TIME. LY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, Which is no more than what is false and vain, And merely mortal dross; So little is our loss, So little is thy gain! For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed, And last of all thy greedy self consumed, Then long eternity shall greet our bliss With an individual kiss ; And joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely good And perfectly divine, With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine About the supreme throne Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, Then, all this earthly grossness quit, Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time! HYMN ON THE NATIVITY, T was the winter wild, IT While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. |