THE SPRING. [From The Mistress.] THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, As ever they were wont to be; As if they sung to pleasure you: I saw a rose-bud ope this morn; I'll swear The blushing morning open'd not more fair. How could it be so fair, and you away? How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? Could they remember but last year, And call'd their fellows to the sight, Would, looking round for the same sight in vain, Creep back into their silent barks again. Where'er you walk'd trees were as reverend made, As when of old gods dwelt in every shade. Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree. In ancient times sure they much wiser were, When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear; In vain did nature bid them stay, When Orpheus had his song begun, They call'd their wondering roots away, And bade them silent to him run. How would those learned trees have followed you? You would have drawn them, and their poet too. But who can blame them now? for, since you're gone, They're here the only fair, and shine alone. You did their natural rights invade : Although the Sun had granted it: The fairest flowers could please no more, near you, Than painted flowers, set next to them, could do. When e'er then you came hither, that shall be The time, which this to others is, to me. The little joys which here are now, The name of punishments do bear, When by their sight they let us know How we depriv'd of greater are. 'Tis you the best of seasons with you bring; This is for beasts, and that for men the spring. RICHARD LOVELACE. 1618-1658. [RICHARD LOVELACE was born at Woolwich in 1618; he died in Gunpowder Alley, near Shoe Lane, London, in April, 1658. His Lucasta was published in 1649, and his Posthume Poems in 1659. He was the author of The Scholar, a comedy, written in 1634, and of The Soldier, a tragedy, written in 1640, but these dramas are lost.] TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. WHEN love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, [SUCKLING was born at Twickenham in 1608-9, and committed suicide in Paris in 1642. He published during his lifetime the drama of Aglaura, in 1638, and the Ballad of a Wedding, in 1640. His other works were first collected posthumously in 1648, under the title of Fragmenta Aurea.] WHY SO PALE AND WAN? WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move, If of herself she will not love, The devil take her! I PRITHEE, send me BACK MY HEART. I PRITHEE, send me back my heart, Why, then, shouldst thou have mine? Yet now I think on't, let it lie, To find it were in vain; For thou'st a thief in either eye Would steal it back again. Why should two hearts in one breast lie, [SIR CHARLES SEDLEY was born at Aylesford in 1639, and died August 20, 1701. His most famous comedy, The Mulberry Garden, appeared in 1688; his poetical and dramatic works were collected in 1719.] THE GROWTH OF LOVE. [From The Mulberry Garden.] Aн, Chloris! that I now could sit Your infant beauty could beget No pleasure nor no pain. When I the dawn used to admire, Your charms in harmless childhood lay, But as your charms insensibly To their perfection pressed, Fond love as unperceived did fly, And in my bosom rest. My passion with your beauty grew, Still, as his mother favored you, Each gloried in their wanton part: Though now I slowly bend to love, If your fair self my chains approve, Lovers, like dying men, may well What fortune they must see. RICHARD CRASHAW. 1615(?)-1650. [RICHARD CRASHAW, born, 1615 (?); expelled from Cambridge, 1644; became a Roman Catholic. Published Steps to the Altar, 1646, and died canon of Loretto, 1650.] EUTHANASIA; OR, THE HAPPY DEATH. WOULD'ST see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? would'st see December smile? In some would'st see a man that can And when life's sweet fable ends, ЕРІТАРН. To these, whom death again did wed, THE TEAR. WHAT bright soft thing is this, A moist spark it is. A wat'ry diamond; from whence The very term I think was found, The water of a diamond. O'tis not a tear, 'Tis a star about to drop From thine eye its sphere, The sun will stoop and take it up, Proud will his sister be to wear This thine eye's jewel in her ear. O'tis a tear, Too true a tear; for no sad een Rain so tear as thine; Such a pearl as this is (Slipt from Aurora's dewy breast) The rosebud's sweet lip kisses; And such the rose itself when vext With ungentle flames, does shed, Sweating in too warm a bed. Such the maiden gem, Peeps from her parent stem, And blushes on the wat'ry sun; This wat'ry blossom of thy een, Ripe will make the richer wine. Fair drop, why quak'st thou so? 'Cause thou straight must lay thy head In the dust? O no, The dust shall never be thy bed; A pillow for thee will I bring, Stuff'd with down of angel's wing: Thus carried up on high, Sweetly shalt thou lie, And in soft slumbers bathe thy woe, Till the singing orbs awake thee, And one of their bright chorus make thee. There thyself shalt be An eye, but not a weeping one, Whether th' hadst rather there have An eye of heaven; or still shine here, In th' heaven of Mary's eye a tear. O! THOU UNDAUNTED. O! THOU undaunted daughter of desires, By all thy dower of lights and fires; By all the eagle in thee, all the dove; And by thy thirsts of love, more large than they; By all thy brim-fill'd bowls of fierce de sire; By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire; By the full kingdom of that final kiss, That seal'd thy parting soul, and made thee his; By all the heavens thou hast in him, By all of him we have in thec, ROBERT HERRICK. 1594-1674. [ROBERT HERRICK was born in Cheapside, in August, 1594, and died at Dean-Prior, in Devon. shire, on the 15th of October, 1674. He published one volume, containing Hesperides, dated 1648, and Noble Numbers, dated 1647.] Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Close by whose living coal I sit, Lord, I confess too, when I dine. And all those other bits that be The worts, the purslain, and the mess Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; Makes those, and my belovèd beet, 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, |