« ZurückWeiter »
NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
On his being arrived at the age of 23.
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
When the assault was intended to the CITY.
CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms! He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
The great Emathian conquerour bid spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground : And the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poét had the power
VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.
LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green,
the hill of heavenly truth: The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friend
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council and her Treasury,
And left them both, more in himself content, Till sad the breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.