While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name !

W. COLLINS. 227. DIRGE FOR FIDELE To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,

And rifle all the breathing Spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove: But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen ;

No goblins lead their nightly crew : The female fays shall haunt the green,

And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
The redbreast oft at evening hours

Shall kindly lend his little aid;
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,

To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,

In tempests shake the sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore,

For thee the tear be duly shed ; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourned till Pity's self be dead.

W. COLLINS. 228. TO MUSIC WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting ; By turns they felt the glowing mind, Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined,

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatched her instruments of sound,
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness ruled the hour,
Would prove his own expressive power.

W. COLLINS (The Passions).

229. A HUE AND CRY AFTER FAIR AMORET
FAIR Amoret is gone astray !

Pursue and seek her, every lover !
I'll tell the signs by which you may

The wandering shepherdess discover.
Coquet and coy at once her air,

Both studied, though both seem neglected:
Careless she is, with artful care ;

Affecting to seem unaffected.
With skill, her eyes dart every glance ;

Yet change so soon, you'd ne'er suspect them:
For she'd persuade, they wound by chance ;

Though certain aim and art direct them.
She likes herself, yet others hates

For that which in herself she prizes,
And, while she laughs at them, forgets

She is the thing that she despises. W. CONGREVE.

230. FALSE THOUGH SHE BE TO ME FALSE though she be to me and In hours of bliss we oft have met: love,

They could not always last, I'll ne'er pursue revenge ;

And though the present I regret, For still the charmer I approve,

I'm grateful for the past. Though I deplore her change.

W. CONGREVE.

231. MUSIC HAS CHARMS
Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
I've read that things inanimate have moved,
And, as with living souls, have been informed
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
What then am I ? Am I more senseless grown
Than trees or flint ? O force of constant woe !
'Tis not in harmony to calm my griefs.

W. CONGREVE (The Mourning Bride).

232. SABINA WAKES

SEE! see, she wakes ! Sabina wakes !

And now the sun begins to rise !
Less glorious is the morn that breaks

From his bright beams than her fair eyes.
With light united, day they give ;

But different fates ere night fulfil;
How many by his warmth will live!
How many will her coldness kill !

W. CONGREVE.
233. DIAPHENIA
DIAPHENIA, like the daffadowndilly,

White as the sun, fair as the lily,
Heigh-ho, how I do love thee !

I do love thee as my lambs

Are beloved of their dams;
How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me.

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,

That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee !

I do love thee as each flower

Loves the sun's life-giving power ;
For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessed

When all thy praises are expressed,
Dear joy, how I do love thee!

As the birds do love the spring,

Or the bees their careful king :
Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me !

H. CONSTABLE.

now

234. FAREWELL, REWARDS AND FAIRIES FAREWELL, rewards and fairies, Lament, lament, old Abbeys, Good housewives

may

The Fairies' lost command ! say,

They did but change Priests' For now foul sluts in dairies

babies, Do fare as well as they.

But some have changed your And though they sweep their land. hearths no less

And all your children, sprung from Than maids

wont to do,

Are now grown Puritans, Yet who of late for cleanliness Who live as Changelings ever since

Finds sixpence in her shoe? For love of your demains.

were

thence,

At morning and at evening both

You merry were and glad, So little care of sleep or sloth

These pretty ladies had ; When Tom came home from

labour, Or Cis to milking rose, Then merrily went their tabor,

And nimbly went their toes. Witness those rings and rounde

lays Of theirs, which yet remain, Were footed in Queen Mary's days

On many a grassy plain ; But since of late, Elizabeth,

And later, James came in, They never danced on any heath

As when the time hath been.

By which we note the Fairies

Were of the old Profession. Their songs were “Ave Mary's',

Their dances were Procession.
But now, alas, they all are dead;

Or gone beyond the seas ;
Or farther for Religion fled ;

Or else they take their ease.
A tell-tale in their company

They never could endure !
And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punished, sure;
It was

a just and Christian
deed
To pinch such black and blue.
Oh how the commonwealth doth

want
Such Justices as you !

R. CORBET.

well :

235. TO VINCENT CORBET, HIS SON WHAT I shall leave thee, none can I wish thee all thy mother's graces, tell,

Thy father's fortunes and his But all shall say I wish thee places.

I wish thee friends, and one at I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth, court, Both bodily and ghostly health; Not to build on, but support; Nor too much wealth nor wit To keep thee not in doing many come to thee,

Oppressions, but from suffering So much of either may undo thee. any. I wish thee learning not for show, I wish thee peace in all thy ways, Enough for to instruct and know; Nor lazy nor contentious days ; Not such as gentlemen require And, when thy soul and body part, To prate at table or at fire.

As innocent as now thou art.

R. CORBET.

236. OH, EARLIER SHALL THE ROSEBUDS BLOW

Oh, earlier shall the rosebuds blow,

In after years, those happier years,
And children weep, when we lie low,

Far fewer tears, far softer tears.
Oh, true shall boyish laughter ring,

Like tinkling chimes, in kinder times !
And merrier shall the maiden sing :

And I not there, and I not there.

Like lightning in the summer night

Their mirth shall be, so quick and free;
And oh ! the flash of their delight
I shall not see,

I

may not see.
In deeper dream, with wider range,

Those eyes shall shine, but not on mine :
Unmoved, unblest, by worldly change,
The dead must rest, the dead shall rest.

W. J. CORY.
237. HERACLITUS
THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead ;
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept as I remembered, how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.
And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake ;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

W. J. CORY.
238. MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH
You promise heavens free from strife,

Pure truth, and perfect change of will ;
But sweet, sweet is this human life,

So sweet, I fain would breathe it still :
Your chilly stars I can forgo,
This warm kind world is all I know.
You say there is no substance here,

One great reality above :
Back from that void I shrink in fear,

And child-like hide myself in love :
Show me what angels feel. Till then,
I cling, a mere weak man, to men.
You bid me lift my mean desires

From faltering lips and fitful veins
To sexless souls, ideal quires,

Unwearied voices, wordless strains :
My mind with fonder welcome owns
One dear dead friend's remembered tones.
Forsooth the present we must give

To that which cannot pass away ;
All beauteous things for which we live

By laws of time and space decay.
But oh, the very reason why
I clasp them, is because they die.

W. J. CORY.