« ForrigeFortsæt »
And round my bier ye come to weep,
PROVIDENCE. - Herbert.
O SACRED Providence, who, from end to end,
Of all the creatures, both in sea and land,
And made him secretary of thy praise.
Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes;
Man is the world's high priest; he doth present
Unto the service mutter an assent,
Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand, And hold it fast, as children do their father's, Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand Check the proud sea, even when it swells and gathers.
How finely dost thou times and seasons spin,
Each creature hath a wisdom for his good:
Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise
So both the flower doth stay, and honey run.
Who hath the virtue to express the rare
E'en poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost?
The sea, which seems to stop the traveller,
And as thy house is full, so I adore
Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods.
The hills with health abound; the vales, with store; The south, with marble; north, with furs and woods.
All countries have enough to serve their need:
Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man,
But who hath praise enough? Nay, who hath any?
All things that are, though they have several ways,
Each thing that is, although in use and name
To honor thee and so each hymn thy fame
ARETHUSA. - Shelley.
From her couch of snows,
In the Acroceraunian mountains,
From cloud and from crag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook ;
In the rocks; - with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It concealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
To the brink of the Dorian deep.
"O, save me! O, guide me, And bid the deep hide me! For he grasps me now by the hair!
The loud Ocean heard,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth's white daughter Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream.
On the emerald main,
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearlèd thrones,
Which amid the streams
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the ocean-foam,
And up through the rifts
They passed to their Dorian home.
In Enna's mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks, Like friends once parted,
They ply their watery tasks.