The flowers appear,

Or quickly would, wert thou once here.
The spring is come, or if it stay

'Tis to keep time with thy delay.

The rain is gone, except so much as we

Detain in needful tears to weep the want of thee. The winter's past,

Or if he make less haste,

His answer is, Why, she does so;

If summer come not, how can winter go?
Come away, come away!

The shrill winds chide, the waters weep thy stay,
The fountains murmur, and each loftiest tree
Bows lowest his leafy top to look for thee.
Come away, my love,

Come away, my dove,

Cast off delay;

The court of heaven is come

To wait upon thee home;

Come, come away.

She's called again. And will she go?
When heaven bids come, who can say no?
Heaven calls her, and she must away,
Heaven will not, and she cannot stay.
Go then; go, glorious on the golden wings
Of the bright youth of heaven, that sings

Under so sweet a burden.

Go,

Since thy dread son will have it so.

And while thou goest, our song and we
Will, as we may, reach after thee.

Hail, holy queen of humble hearts!

We in thy praise will have our parts.

And though thy dearest looks must now give light To none but the blest heavens, whose bright Beholders, lost in sweet delight,

Feed for ever their fair sight

With those divinest eyes, which we

And our dark world no more shall see ;

Though our poor eyes are parted so,
Yet shall our lips never let go
Thy gracious name, but to the last
Our loving song shall hold it fast.
Thy precious name shall be
Thyself to us, and we

With holy care will keep it by us.

We to the last

Will hold it fast,

And no Assumption shall deny us.

All the sweetest showers

Of our fairest flowers

Will we strow upon it.

Though our sweets cannot make

It sweeter, they can take

Themselves new sweetness from it.

Maria, men and angels sing,

Maria, mother of our King.

Live, rosy princess, live, and may the bright
Crown of a most incomparable light
Embrace thy radiant brows. O may the best
Of everlasting joys bathe thy white breast.

Live, our chaste love, the holy mirth
Of heaven; the humble pride of earth.
Live, crown of women; queen of men ;
Live, mistress of our song. And when
Our weak desires have done their best,
Sweet angels come, and sing the rest.

BREAD AD,

CIII.

SIR RICHARD LOVELACE, 1618-1658.

TO LUCASTA. GOING BEYOND THE SEAS.

F to be absent were to be

IF

Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone,

You or I were alone;

Then my Lucasta might I crave

Pity from blustering wind or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale

To swell my sail,

Or pay a tear to 'suage

The foaming blew-god's rage;

For whether he will let me pass

Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls:

Above the highest sphere we meet,

Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipate
Our after-tate,

And are alive i' the skies,
If thus our lips and eyes
Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

CIV.

TO LUCASTA. GOING TO THE WARS.

ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,

TELL

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind

To war and arms I fly.

True

; a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.