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CVI.

ANDREW MARVELL, 1620-1678.

WHER

BERMUDAS.

HERE the remote Bermudas ride,
In the ocean's bosom unespyed;
From a small boat, that rowed along,
The listening winds received this song.

What should we do but sing his praise,
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,

And yet far kinder than our own?

Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks
That lift the deep upon their backs.
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage.
He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels everything;
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night.
And does in the pomegranates close,

Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet ;
And throws the melons at our feet.

But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, he stores the land.
And makes the hollow seas, that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast, of which we rather boast,
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast.
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple, where to sound his name.
Oh! let our voice his praise exalt,
'Til it arrive at heaven's vault;
Which, then, perhaps, rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay.

Thus sung they, in the English boat, An holy and a cheerful note;

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.

CVII.

HENRY VAUGHAN, 1621-1695.

H

THE RETREAT.

APPY those early days, when I
Shined in my angel infancy!

Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two, from my first love,
And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense

A several sin to every sense,
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence the enlightened spirit sees
That shady city of palm trees.

But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way.
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

CVIII.

MY

PEACE.

soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,

Where stands a winged sentry

All skilful in the wars;

There, above noise and danger,

Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles,

And One born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious friend

And, O my soul awake!

Did in pure love descend

To die here for thy sake;
If thou can'st get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges,
For none can thee secure,
But One, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

CIX.

THEY

HEY are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is fair 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 dressed,
After the sun's remove.

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

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