How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flow'rs, and herbs, this dial new,
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run,
And, as it works, the industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we!

How could such sweet and wholesome hours

Be reckon'd but with herbs and flowers?

CIV

A. MARVELL.

PHOSPHORE REDDE DIEM

WILL'T ne'er be morning? Will that promis'd light Ne'er break, and clear those clouds of night? Sweet Phosphor, bring the day,

Whose conqu'ring ray

May chase these fogs; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

How long! How long shall these benighted eyes
Languish in shades, like feeble flies

Expecting spring? How long shall darkness soil
The face of earth, and thus beguile

The souls of sprightful action? When, when will day
Begin to dawn, whose new-born ray

May gild the weather-cocks of our devotion,
And give our unsoul'd souls new motion?
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day,
Thy light will fray

These horrid mists; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

Alas! my light in vain expecting eyes

Can find no objects, but what rise

From this poore mortal blaze, a dying spark
Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark,
A dang'rous, a dull blue-burning light,

As melancholy as the night:

Here's all the sunnes that glister in the sphere
Of earth: ah me! what comfort's here?
Sweet Phosphor, bring the day;

Haste, haste away,

Heav'n's loit'ring lamp; sweet Phosphor, bring the day.

CV

F. QUARLES.

PRESENT AND FUTURE

How we dally out our days!
How we seek a thousand ways
To find death! the which, if none
We sought out, would show us one.

Never was there morning yet,
Sweet as is the violet,

Which man's follie did not soon
Wish to be expir'd in noon:

As though such an haste did tend
To our bliss, and not our end.

Nay, the young ones in the nest
Sucke this folly from the breast;
And no stammering ape but can
Spoil a prayer to be a man.

Sooner shall the wandering star
Learn what rest and quiet are;
Sooner shall the slippery rill

Leave his motion and stand still.

Be it joy, or be it sorrow,

We refer all to the morrow;

That, we think, will ease our paine;

That, we do suppose again,

Will increase our joy; and soe

Events, the which we cannot know,

We magnify, and are (in sum)
Enamour'd of the time to come.

Well, the next day comes, and then
Another next, and soe to ten,
To twenty we arrive, and find
No more before us than behind

Of solid joy; and yet haste on
To our consummation;

Till the forehead often have
The remembrance of a grave;
And, at last, of life bereav'd,
Die unhappy and deceiv'd.

R. GOMERSALL.

CVI

DEPARTED FRIENDS

THEY are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling'ring here!

Their very memory is faire and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the Sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glorie,
Whose light doth trample on my days;

My days, which are at best but dull and hoarie,
Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy Hope! and high Humility!

High as the Heavens above;

These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death; the Jewel of the Just!
Shining no where but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know

At first sight if the bird be flown;

But what fair dell or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleepe,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peepe.

If a star were confin'd into a tombe,

Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that lockt her up gives roome She'll shine through all the spheare.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee!

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall

Into true libertie !