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41. ON MY DEAR SON
Can I, who have for others oft compiled
SIR J. BEAUMONT.
42. BAD TIMES
Why slander we the times ?
If we would rightly scan,
If thy desire it be
That all thy days to thee
43. IF THOU WILT EASE THINE HEART
IF thou wilt ease thine heart But wilt thou cure thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then die, dear, die; And not a sorrow
'Tis deeper, sweeter, Hang any tear on your eye
Than on a rose-bank to lie lashes;
dreaming Lie still and deep,
With folded eye ; Sad soul, until the sea-wave
And there alone, amid the washes
In eastern sky.
44. LOVE IN FANTASTIC TRIUMPH SAT LOVE in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed : For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he showed. From thy bright eyes he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurled ; But 'twas from mine he took desires
Enough to undo the amorous world. From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty ; From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee.
And set him up a deity,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free. A. BEHN.
45. THE PROSPECT IN AMERICA THE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime
Barren of every glorious theme,
Producing subjects worthy fame.
And virgin earth such scenes ensue,
And fancied beauties by the true :
Where nature guides and virtue rules,
The pedantry of courts and schools :
The rise of empire and of arts,
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
By future poets shall be sung.
The four first acts already past,
G. BERKELEY (On the Prospect of planting
Arts and Learning in America).
46. I CARE FOR NOBODY, NOT I THERE was a jolly miller once And this the burden of his Lived on the river Dee ;
song He worked and sang from morn For ever used to be :till night,
I care for nobody, not I, No lark more blithe than he. If no one cares for me.
I. BICKERSTAFFE (Love in a Village).
47. THE END OF LIFE
SURE the last end
R. BLAIR (The Grave).
48. FROM 'AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE' A ROBIN redbreast in a cage The wild deer, wandering here and Puts all Heaven in a rage.
there, A dove-house filled with doves Keeps the human soul from care. and pigeons
The lamb misused breeds public Shudders Hell through all its strife, regions.
And yet forgives the butcher's
Kill not the moth nor butter
fly, For the last judgement draweth
He who shall train the horse to war
49. THE BUILDING OF JERUSALEM And did those feet in ancient time Bring me my bow of burning gold ! Walk upon England's moun- Bring me my arrows of desire ! tains green?
Bring me my spear !
O clouds, And was the holy Lamb of God unfold ! On England's pleasant pastures Bring me my chariot of fire ! seen ?
I will not cease from mental fight, And did the Countenance Divine Nor shall my sword sleep in my Shine forth upon our clouded hand, hills ?
Till we have built Jerusalem And was Jerusalem builded here In England's green and pleasant Among these dark Satanic Mills? land.
W. BLAKE (Milton).
50. A TEAR IS AN INTELLECTUAL THING
But vain the sword and vain the bow,
W. BLAKE (The Grey Monk).
51. I TOLD MY LOVE I TOLD my love, I told my love, Soon as she was gone from me, I told her all my heart ;
A traveller came by,
0! was no deny.
W. BLAKE (The Everlasting Gospel).
53. THE LAMB LITTLE Lamb, who made thee ? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, He is called by thy name, By the stream and o'er the mead; For He calls Himself a Lamb. Gave thee clothing of delight, He is meek, and He is mild ; Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; He became a little child. Gave thee such a tender voice, I a child, and thou a lamb, Making all the vales rejoice ? We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, who made thee ? Little Lamb, God bless thee ! Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, God bless thee !
54. MOCK ON, MOCK ON, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau ;
Mock on, mock on ; 'tis all in vain !
And the wind blows it back again.
Reflected in the beams divine ;
55. THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
And I am black, but O my soul is white;
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
And, pointing to the east, began to say:
And gives His light, and gives His heat away ;
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
That we may learn to bear the beams of love ;
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice.”