Did in pure love descend

To die here for thy sake;
If thou can'st get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges,
For none can thee secure,
But One, who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

CIX.

HEY are all gone into the world of light!

THE And I alone sit lingering here;

Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed,
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days;

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy hope! and high humility,

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have shewed them me To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death! the jewel of the just,
Shining no where, but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust;
Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know

At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep;

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb

Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up, gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.

O father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee!

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective, still, as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.

CX.

THOMAS STANLEY, 1625?-1678.

O

THE RELAPSE.

H turn away those cruel eyes,
The stars of my undoing;

Or death in such a bright disguise

May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blind and impious pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;

It was my fall that deified

Thy name, and sealed thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice

No other for thy fuel,

And if thou burn one victim twice,

Both think thee poor and cruel.

CXI.

JOHN DRYDEN, 1631-1700.

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING

OUT OF TOWN IN THE SPRING.

A

SK not the cause why sullen spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;

Why warbling birds forget to sing,
And winter storms invert the year:
Chloris is gone; and fate provides
To make it spring, where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye:
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah! how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure.

Great god of love, why hast thou made

A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land?
Where thou hadst placed such power before,
Thou should'st have made her mercy more.