Classic Poem

Fourth Song, The: Lines 211ÔÇô302 -

When she was born, Nature in sport began
To learn the cunning of an artisan,
And did vermilion with a white compose,
To mock herself and paint a damask rose.
But scorning Nature unto Art should seek,
She spilt her colours on this maiden's cheek.
Her mouth the gate from whence all goodness came,
Of power to give the dead a living name.
Her words embalmed in so sweet a breath,
That made them triumph both on Time and Death;
Whose fragrant sweets, since the chameleon knew,
And tasted of, he to this humour grew,
Left other elements, held this so rare,
That since he never feeds on ought but air.
O had I Virgil's verse, or Tully's tongue,
Or raping numbers like the Thracian's song,
I have a theme would make the rocks to dance,
And surly beasts that through the desert prance,
Hie from their caves, and every gloomy den,
To wonder at the excellence of men.
Nay, they would think their states for ever rais'd,
But once to look on one so highly prais'd.
Out of whose maiden breasts (which sweetly rise)
The seers suck'd their hidden prophecies:
And told that for her love in times to come,
Many should seek the crown of mariyrdom,
By fire, by sword, by tortures, dungeons, chains,
By stripes, by famine, and a world of pains;
Yet constant still remain (to her they lov'd)
Like Sion Mount, that cannot be remov'd.
Proportion on her arms and hands recorded,
The world for her no fitter place afforded.
Praise her who list, he still shall be her debtor:
For Art ne'er feign'd, nor Nature fram'd a better.
As when a holy father hath began
To offer sacrifice to mighty Pan,
Doth the request of every swain assume,
To scale the welkin in a sacred fume
Made by a widow'd turtle's loving mate,
Or lambkin, or some kid immaculate,
The off'ring heaves aloft, with both his hands,
Which all adore that near the altar stands:
So was her heavenly body comely rais'd
On two fair columns; those that Ovid prais'd
In Julia's borrow'd name, compar'd with these,
Were crabs to apples of th' Hesperides;
Or stump-foot Vulcan in comparison
With all the height of true perfection.
Nature was here so lavish of her store,
That she bestow'd until she had no more;
Whose treasure being weaken'd (by this dame)
She thrusts into the world so many lame.
The highest synod of the glorious sky
(I heard a wood-nymph sing) sent Mercury
To take a survey of the fairest faces,
And to describe to them all women's graces;
Who long time wand'ring in a serious quest,
Noting what parts by Beauty were possess'd:
At last he saw this maid, then thinking fit
To end his journey, here, nil-ultra, writ.
Fida in adoration kiss'd her knee,
And thus bespake: Hail glorious Deity!
(If such thou art, and who can deem you less?)
Whether thou reign'st queen of the wilderness,
Or art that goddess ('tis unknown to me)
Which from the ocean draws her pettigree:
Or one of those, who by the mossy banks
Of drizzling Helicon, in airy ranks
Tread roundelays upon the silver sands,
Whilst shaggy satyrs, tripping o'er the strands,
Stand still at gaze, and yield their senses thralls
To the sweet cadence of your madrigals:
Or of the fairy troop which nimbly play,
And by the springs dance out the summer's day,
Teaching the little birds to build their nests,
And in their singing how to keepen rests;
Or one of those who, watching where a spring
Out of our Grandame Earth hath issuing,
With your attractive music woo the stream
(As men by fairies led, fall'n in a dream)
To follow you, which sweetly trilling wanders
In many mazes, intricate meanders;
Till at the last, to mock th' enamour'd rill,
Ye bend your traces up some shady hill;
And laugh to see the wave no further tread;
But in a chafe run foaming on his head,
Being enforc'd a channel new to frame,
Leaving the other deslitute of name.
If thou be one of these, or all, or more,
Succour a seely maid, that doth implore
Aid, on a bended heart, unfeign'd and meek,
As true as blushes of a maiden cheek.English