O Time! O Death! I clasp you in my arms,

For I can soothe an infinite cold sorrow,

And gaze contented on your icy charms,

And that wild snow-pile which we call to-morrow;

Sweep on, O soft, and azure-lidded sky,

Earth's waters to your gentle gaze reply.

I am not earth-born, though I here delay;

Hope's child, I summon infiniter powers;

And laugh to see the mild and sunny day

Smile on the shrunk and thin autumnal hours;

I laugh, for hope hath happy place

with me,

If my bark sinks, 'tis to another sea. CHANNING.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw;

For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
like the plain, I climb no hill;
In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate; 1 break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate. I scorn no poor, I fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court nor cart I like nor loathe; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall;

This is my choyce; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect

ease;

My conscience clear my chief defence;

I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! WILLIAM BYRD.

AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE.

You that can look through Heaven, and tell the stars,

Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars;

Find out new lights, and give them where you please,

To these men honors, pleasures, to those ease;

You that are God's surveyors, and can show

How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow;

Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder,

And when it will shoot over, or fall under:

Tell me, by all your art I conjure ye, Yes, and by truth, what shall be

come of me?

He made the Angels thine, thy fel lows all,

Nay, even thy servants, when devo tions call.

Oh canst thou be so stupid then, so dim,

To seek a saving influence, and lose him?

Can Stars protect thee? or can poverty,

Which is the light to Heaven, put out his eye?

He is my star; in him all truth I find,

All influence, all fate, and when my mind

Is furnished with his fullnesse, my poor story

Shall outlive all their Age, and all their glory.

The hand of danger cannot fall amiss,

When I know what, and in whose power it is.

Nor want, the cause of man, shall make me groan;

A holy hermit is a mind alone.
Doth not experience teach us all we

can

To work ourselves into a glorious man?

Love's but an exhalation to best eyes The matter's spent, and then the fool's fire dyes?

Were I in love, and could that bright star bring

Increase to wealth, honor, and every

thing:

Were she as perfect good as we can aim,

The first was so, and yet she lost the Game.

My mistress then be knowledge and faire truth;

So I enjoy all beauty and all youth, And though to Time her lights and laws she lends,

She knows no Age that to corruption bends.

Friends' promises may lead me to believe,

But he that is his own friend knows to live.

Affliction, when I know it, is but this,

A deep alloy whereby man tougher is To bear the hammer; and the deeper

still,