Which, Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them;
And taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.

TO THE WILLOW TREE.

Thou art to all lost love the best
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids, distrest

And left of love, are crowned.

When once the lover's rose is dead

Or laid aside forlorn,

Then willow garlands 'bout the head,
Bedewed with tears are worn.

When with neglect the lover's bane
Poor maids rewarded be

For their love lost; their only gain
Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,

The love-spent youth and love-sick maid
Come to weep out the night.

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THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE.

The rose was sick, and smiling died;
And being to be sanctified,

About the bed there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood.
Some hung the head, while some did bring.
To wash her, water from the spring;
Some laid her forth, while others wept,

But all a solemn fast there kept.
The holy sisters some among

The sacred dirge and trental sung;
But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere
As heaven had spent all perfumes there!
At last, when prayers for the dead
And rites were all accomplished,
They, weeping, spread a lawny loom,
And closed her up, as in a tomb.

SONG.

Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he's a getting, The sooner will his race be run,

The nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But, being spent, the worse and worse Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, whilst ye may, go marry ;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

TO MEADOWS.

Ye have been fresh and green,

Ye have been filled with flowers;

And ye the walks have been,

Where maids have spent their hours.

Ye have beheld where they

With wicker arks did come;

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowlips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like the spring,
With honeysuckles crowned.

But now we see none here,
Whose silvery feet did tread;

And, with dishevelled hair,

Adorned this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts having spent

Your stock, and needy grown;

You're left here to lament,

Your poor estates alone.

TO DAFFODILS.

Fair daffodils, we weep to see,
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early rising sun,
Has not attained its noon.

Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run,

But to the even song,

And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay,

As you or any thing.

We die,

As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain,

Or, as the pearls of morning dew, Ne'er to be found again.

THE NIGHT-PIECE. TO JULIA.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No will-o'-th'-wisp mislight thee;

Nor snake, nor slow-worm bite thee;

But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there is none to affright thee,

Let not the dark thee cumber,

What though the moon doth slumber?

The stars of the night,

Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.

TO BLOSSOMS.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,

And so to bid good-night?
"Twas pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we

May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave;

And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile they glide

Into the grave.