For sure such two conspiring minds, Which no accident, or sight, Did thus unite; Whom no distance can confine, Start, or decline, One, for another, were design'd. TO AMORET, GONE FROM HOME. ANCY and I, last evening walkt, And Amoret, of thee we talkt; sun, And his last blushes had begun : We sate, and markt how every thing Did mourne his absence: how the spring! That smil'd, and curl'd about his beames, Whilst he was here, now check'd her streames: The wanton eddies of her face Were taught lesse noise, and smoother grace; And in a slow, sad channel went, Whisp'ring the banks their discontent: The carelesse ranks of flowers that spread Fountain or well, as before. G. And with an open, free embrace, Like absent friends point to the West, And on that weake reflection feast. If creatures then that have no sence, Though Fate and Time each day remove Why Amoret, why should not wee? I A SONG TO AMORET. F I were dead, and in my place, To warme thee with new fires, and grace Those armes I left behind; Were he as faithfull as the sunne, That's wedded to the sphere; His blood as chaste and temp'rate runne, As April's mildest teares; Or were he rich, and with his heapes, And spacious share of Earth, Could make divine affection cheape, , For all these arts I'de not believe, -No, though he should be thineThe mighty amorist could give So rich a heart as mine. Fortune and beauty thou mightst finde, And greater men then I: But my true resolved minde, They never shall come nigh.' For I not for an houre did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soule had from above, AN ELEGY. IS true, I am undone yet e're I dye, I'le leave these sighes and teares, a legacye To after-lovers: that remembring me, Those sickly flames which now benighted be, Fann'd by their warmer sighes, may love; and prove In them the metempsuchosis of love. 1 MS. as before: 'But with my true steadfast minde None can pretend to vie.' G. 'Twas I-when others scorn'd-vow'd you were fair, And sware thy breath enrich'd the courser aire, And made them leave their spheres to heare thy voice: I made the Indian curse the houres he spent I borrow'd from the winds, the gentler wing Of Zephirus, and soft soules of the Spring And made to ayre those cheeks wth fresher graceThe warm inspirers dwell upon thy face. Oh! jam satis.... A RHAPSODIE: Occasionally written upon a meeting with some of his friends at the Globe Taverne, in a chamber painted over head with a cloudy skie, and some few dispersed starres, and on the sides, with land-scapes, hills, shepheards and sheep.1 ARKNES, and stars i' th' mid-day! They invite Our active fancies to beleeve it night: For tavernes need no sunne, but for a signe, Where rich tobacco, and quick tapers shine; And royall, witty sacke, the poet's soule With brighter suns then he, doth guild the bowl; As though the pot and poet did agree, Sack should to both, Illuminator be, That artificiall cloud with its curl'd brow, Tells us 'tis late; and that blew space below, Is fir'd with many stars: Marke, how they breake The roome-me thinks-growes darker; and the aire 1 See our Essay in the present volume, for remarks on this poem, and its value and interest. G. |