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APPY is he, that with fix'd eyes
The fountain of all goodness spies !

Happy is he, that can break through
Those bonds, which tie him here below!

The Thracian poet long ago
Kind Orpheus, full of tears and wo,
Did for his lov'd Euridice
In such sad numbers mourn, that he
Made the trees run in to his mone,
And streams stand still to hear him grone.
The does came fearless in one throng
With lyons, to his mournfull song,
And charm’d by the harmonious sound
The hare stay'd by the quiet hound.

But when Love heightned by despair
And deep reflections on his fair,
Had swell’d his heart, and made it rise

1 Marcus Aurelius Severino : a Neapolitan physici an and a Poet. Born 1580 : died July 15th, 1656. G.



And run in tears out at his eyes :
And those sweet aires, which did appease
Wild beasts, could give their lord no ease;
Then vex'd that so much grief and love
Mor'd not all the gods above,
With desperate thoughts and bold intent,
Towards the shades below he went;
For thither his fair love was fled,
And he must have her from the dead :
There in such lines, as did well suit
With sad aires and a lover's lute,
And in the richest language drest
That could be thought on, or exprest,
Did he complain ; whatever grief
Or art or love-which is the chief,
And all innobles-could lay out :
In well-tun'd wees he dealt about.
And humbly bowing to the prince
Of ghosts, begg'd some intelligence
Of his Euridice, and where
His beauteous saint resided there.
Then to his lute's instructed grones
He sigh'd out new melodious mones;
And in a melting, charming strain
Beggd his dear love to life again.

The music flowing through the shade And darkness, did with case invade


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The silent and attentive ghosts ;
And Cerberus, which guards those coasts
With his lowd barkings, overcome
By the sweet notes, was now struck dumb.
The Furies, usd to rave and howl
And prosecute each guilty soul,
IIad lost their rage, and in a deep
Transport, did now profusely weep.
Ixion's wheel stopt, and the curst
Tantalus almost kill'd with thirst,
Though the streams now did make no haste,
But waited for him, none would taste.
That vulture, which fed still upon
Tityus his liver, now was gone
To fced on air, and would not stay
Though almost famish'd, with her prey.
Won with these wonders, their fierce

At last cry'd out, “We yield !', and since
Thy merits claim no less, take hence
Thy consort for thy recompence:
But Orpheus, to this law we bind
Our grant: you must not look behind,
Nor of your

fair lore have one sight, Till out of our dominions quite.'

Alas! what laws can lovers awe? Love is itself the greatest law!

Or who can such hard bondage brook
To be in love, and not to look ?
Poor Orpheus almost in the light
Lost his dear love for one short sight;
And by those eyes, which Love did guide,
What he most lov'd unkindly dyed !

This tale of Orpheus and his love
Was meant for you, who ever move
Upwards, and tend into that light,
Which is not seen by mortal sight.
For if, while you strive to ascend,
You droop, and towards Earth once bend
Your seduc'd eyes, down you will fall
Ev'n while you look, and forfeit all.


HAT fix'd affections, and lov'd laws

– Which are the hid, magnetic

cause :

Wise Nature governs with, and by
What fast, inviolable tye,
The whole creation to her ends
For ever provident she bends :
All this I purpose to rehearse
In the sweet airs of solenn verse.

Although the Lybian lyons should

Be bound in chains of purest gold,
And duely fed, were taught to know
Their keeper's voice, and fear his blow :
Yet, if they chance to taste of bloud,
Their rage which slept, stirr'd by that food
In furious roarings will awake,
And fiercely for their freedom make.
No chains nor bars their fury brooks,
But with inrag'd and bloody looks
They will break through, and dull'd with

Their keeper all to pieces tear.

The bird, which on the Wood's tall boughs Sings sweetly, if you cage or house, And out of kindest care should think To give her honey with her drink, And get her store of pleasant meat, Ev'n such as she delights to eat : Yet, if from her close prison she The shady.groves doth chance to see, Straitway she loaths her pleasant food, And with sad looks longs for the Wood. The Wood, the Wood alone she loves ! And towards it she looks and moves : And in sweet notes—though distant from, Sings to her first and happy home!

That plant, which of it self doth grow

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