THE WHITE ISLAND.

N this world, the isle of dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams
Tears and terrors are our themes,
Reciting;

But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young Eternity,

Uniting

In that Whiter Island, where

Things are evermore sincere,

Candour here and lustre there

Delighting;

There no monstrous fancies shall

Out of hell a horror call,

Or create, or cause at all

Affrighting.

There, in calm and cooling sleep
We our eyes shall never steep,
But eternal watch shall keep,

Attending

Pleasures, such as shall pursue
Me immortalized, and you,
And fresh joys, as never too

Have ending.

(Herrick.)

L

ON A LADY THAT DIED IN CHILD-BED.

S gillyflowers do but stay

To blow, and seed, and so away;

So you, sweet Lady, sweet as May,

The garden's glory lived a while,

To lend the world your scent and smile;
But when your own fair print was set
Once in a virgin flosculet,

Sweet as yourself and newly blown,
To give that life resigned your own;
But so, as still the mother's power
Lives in the pretty lady flower.

(Herrick.)

ON A VIRGIN.

ERE a solemn fast we keep,
While all beauty lies asleep;

Hushed be all things, no noise here

But the toning of a tear,

Or a sigh of such as bring
Cowslips for her covering.

(Herrick.)

TO HIS WINDING-SHEET.

OME thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ;

The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.

Thou art of what I did intend

The all, and end;

And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee my sheet.

Come then, and be to my chaste side
Both bed, and bride ;

We two, as reliques left, will hav

One rest, one grave;

And, hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here,

Where all desires are dead, or cold
As is the mould,

And all affections are forgot,

Or trouble not.

Here, here the slaves and prisoners be
From shackles free;

And weeping widows, long opprest,
Do here find rest;