English

Why art thou sad, dear Lady? whose sweet ways
Do cleanse and gladden all the paths thou treadest;
Making rebellious spirits calm, and praise
To spring before thee, wheresoe'er thou threadest
Thy gracious path, 'mid mortal sins and pain;
Till at thy presence hearts take hope again.

Why art thou sad to-night, withdrawn, apart?
Save from one only, whom thy love approveth:
Save from one only, in whose sentient heart
Vibrates each pain or joy, thy soul that moveth.
Draw near, sweet Penitent; confess thy fears:

Lo, I and He
Are Earth, and sea,
And clod, and god, and worm, and star;
'Twixt His and mine
There is nor line,
Nor boundary, nor bar;
Out into His Infinity
My finite reaches far;
And yet I know not what He is, nor what we singly are.
What Infinite Perfection makes and finite senses mar.
I merely thrill
Beneath His Will,
And know that He must be —
That heart
And limb
Are part
Of Him,
And He a part of me —
That we grow one

" Salt
lick! " deer on waste sing:
grass for the tasting, guests to feasting;
strike lute and blow
pipes to show how
feasts were in Chou,
drum up that basket-lid now

" Salt
lick! " deer on waste sing:
sharp grass for tasting, guests to feasting.
In clear sincerity,
here is no snobbery
This to show how
good wine should flow
in banquet mid true
gentlemen.

" Salt
lick! " deer on waste sing,
k'in plants for tasting, guests to feasting;
beat drum and strumm

Beauty has gone, but yet her mind is still
As beautiful as ever; still the play
Of light around her lips has every charm
Of childhood in its freshness: Love has there
Stamped his unfading impress, and the hues
Of fancy shine around her, as the sun
Gilds at his setting some decaying tower,
With feathered moss and ivy overgrown.
I knew her in the dawning of her charms,
When the new rose first opened, and its sweets
No wind had wasted. She was of those forms
Apelles might have painted for the queen.

I wore your roses yesterday:
About this light robe's folds of white,
Wherein their gathered sweetness lay,
Still clings their perfume of delight.

And all in vain the warm wind sweeps
These airy folds like vapor fine,
Among them still the odor sleeps,
And haunts me with a dream divine.

So to my heart your memory clings,
So sweet, so rich, so delicate:
Eternal summer-time it brings,
Defying all the storms of fate;

A power to turn the darkness bright,
Till life with matchless beauty glows;

Not knowing who should my Acquittance take,
I know as little what discharge to make.
The favour is so great, that it out-goes
All forms of thankfulness I can propose.
Those grateful levies which my pen would raise,
Are stricken dumb, or bury'd in amaze.
Therefore, as once in Athens there was shown
An Altar built unto the God unknown,
My ignorant devotions must by guess
This blind return of gratitude address,
Till You vouchsafe to shew me where and how
I may to this revealed Goddess bow.

So Diamonds sparkle, and thy Mistriss' eyes;
When 'tis not Fire, but Light in either flyes.
Beauty not thaw'd by lustful flames will show
Like a fair mountain of unmelted snow:
Nor can the tasted vine more danger bring
Then water taken from the chrystall Spring,
Whose end is to refresh and cool that heat
Which unallayd becomes foul Vice's seat:
Unless thy boyling veins, mad with desire
Of drink, convert the liquor into fire.
For then thou quaff'st down feavers, thy full bowles
Carouse the burning draughts of Portia's Coles.

(A PARODY.)

In the end I beheld great Hercules' wondrous achievements,
And his shade. — Himself was not, alas, to be seen.
Like birds screaming aloft, I heard the Tragedians' out-cry,
And like yelping dogs, bayed Dramaturgists around.
Terrible stood the monster there. His bow was extended,
And th' impatient bolt steadily bore on the heart.
" What adventurous act wouldst thou, unfortunate, hazard,

Now that each feather'd Chorister doth sing
The glad approches of the welcome Spring,
Now Phaebus darts forth his more early beam,
And dips it later in the curled stream,
I should to custome prove a retrograde
Did I still dote upon my sullen shade.

Oft have the seasons finisht and begun,
Dayes into Months, Those into Years have run,
Since my cross Starres and inauspicious fate
Doom'd me to linger here without my Mate:
Whose loss, e're since, befrosting my desire
Left me an Altar without Gift or Fire.

How one wealthy man can make the indigent easy!
When a sovereign builds, carters have plenty to do.