Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,

160

Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold.
Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more; For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,

165

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore.

170

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves,

Where, other groves and other streams along,

175

With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above
In solemn troops and sweet societies,
That sing and, singing, in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
While the still Morn went out with sandals gray;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay;
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue;
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.

John Milton.

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185

190

CXXVI

THE CHRISTIAN'S REPLY TO THE PHILOSOPHER.

The good in graves as heavenly seed are sown;
And at the saints' first spring, the general doom,
Will rise, not by degrees, but fully blown ;

When all the angels to their harvest come.

Cannot Almighty Heaven (since flowers which pass 5 Thawed through a still, and there melt mingled too, Are raised distinct in a poor chymist's glass)

Do more in graves than men in limbecs do?

God bred the arts, to make us more believe
(By seeking nature's covered mysteries,)
His darker works, that faith may thence conceive
He can do more than what our reason sees.

O coward faith! religion's trembling guide!
Whom ev'n the dim-eyed arts must lead to see
What nature only from our sloth does hide,
Causes remote, which faith's dark dangers be.

ΙΟ

15

Religion, ere imposed, should first be taught;

Not seem to dull obedience ready laid,

Then swallowed straight for ease, but long be sought; And be by reason counselled, though not swayed.

20

God has enough to human kind disclosed;
Our fleshly garments He a while received,
And walked as if the Godhead were deposed,
Yet could be then but by a few believed.

The faithless Jews will this at doom confess,
Who did suspect Him for his low disguise:
But, if He could have made his virtue less,
He had been more familiar to their eyes.

25

Frail life! in which, through mists of human breath
We grope for truth, and make our progress slow,
Because by passion blinded; till, by death
Our passions ending, we begin to know.

O reverend death! whose looks can soon advise

30

Even scornful youth, whilst priests their doctrine waste;
Yet mocks us too; for he does make us wise,
When by his coming our affairs are past.

O harmless death! whom still the valiant brave,
The wise expect, the sorrowful invite,

And all the good embrace, who know the grave
A short dark passage to eternal light.

35

Sir William Davenant.

CXXVII

MORTIFICATION.

How soon doth man decay!

When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets
To swaddle infants, whose young breath
Scarce knows the way;

Those clouts are little winding-sheets,

Which do consign and send them unto death.

When boys go first to bed,

They step into their voluntary graves;

Sleep binds them fast; only their breath

Makes them not dead.

Successive nights, like rolling waves,

Convey them quickly, who are bound for death.

When youth is frank and free,

And calls for music, while his veins do swell,
All day exchanging mirth and breath

In company;

That music summons to the knell,

Which shall befriend him at the house of death.

5

10

15

When man grows staid and wise,

Getting a house and home, where he may move
Within the circle of his breath,

Schooling his eyes;

That dumb inclosure maketh love Unto the coffin, that attends his death.

When age grows low and weak,

Marking his grave, and thawing every year,
Till all do melt, and drown his breath,
When he would speak;

A chair or litter shows the bier

Which shall convey him to the house of death.

Man, ere he is aware,

Hath put together a solemnity,

And dressed his hearse, while he has breath

As yet to spare.

Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die,

That all these dyings may be life in death.

20

25

30

35

George Herbert.

CXXVIII

THE RETREAT.

Happy 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 aught
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,

5

ΙΟ

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.

Oh 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.

CXXIX

Henry Vaughan.

A DROP OF DEW.

See, how the orient dew,

Shed from the bosom of the morn

Into the blowing roses,

Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 'twas born,
Round in itself incloses,

And in its little globe's extent,
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,
Scarce touching where it lies;
But gazing back upon the skies,

Shines with a mournful light,