English

If stepdame Nature have been scant,
In dealing Beauty's gifts to me,
My wit shall help supply that want,
And skill instead of shape shall be:
My stature, I confess, is small,
And therefore nill I boast of war.

My name shall fill the heavens and all,
This skin shall serve to hide that scar;
My head to bear the helm unfit,
My hands unapt to murder men:
But little heads oft hold much wit,
And feeble hands can guide a pen.

If Wrong by force had Justice put to flight,
Yet were there hope she might return again;
If lawless war had shut her up from sight,
Yet lawful peace might soon restore her train.
But now, alas, what hope of hope is left,
When wrongful Death hath her of life bereft?

The Sun, that often falls, doth often rise;
The Moon, that waneth, waxeth full with light;
But he, that death in chains of darkness ties,
Can never break the bands of lasting night.
What then remains but tears of loss to wail,

Clarinda coquettish and gay,
On a time was reprov'd by her aunt,
Your virtue will surely give way,
When so freely you treat a gallant.

Your actions more narrowly scan,
Consider your fortune and name,
To be seen so familiar with man,
You lay yourself open to blame.

Dear, madam, I own you are wise,
Thus pertly Clarinda reply'd,
But really it gives me surprise
To hear your fantastical pride.

When youth deck'd your cheeks with its bloom,
And nature was brisk in your veins,

Restore, O Thought, whose potent weird
Recalls the Past on lagging pinion,
The corbeled roof De Lancey reared
What time Queen Anne maintained dominion.

Away with dust and rattling pave!
Let all be swarded, green and trim,
And call the river's banished wave
Again to lap a garden's rim.

How bright with silk and rich brocade,
With baldric broad and tossing feather.
The Long Room rilled when youth and maid
Went swinging down the floor together!

Those heavy beams could make avow

Thou, who, in thine own bitter words, didst keep
A burning heart amid the eternal snows, —
Say, whether in the garth of death there grows
A herb to staunch thy grief and yield thee sleep.

Breathe gentlier, gentlier there! oh slumber deep
No more the fangs of fruitless longing close
Fast in that flesh from which the life-blood flows,
Back from that brow the clouds of torture sweep.

Beyond the lot of man thou sufferedst pain;
But thy great spirit, through the winnowing fire,
Like noblest metal from a raging pyre,

Poor Celia sell sick and look'd wonderful bad
Which greatly alarm'd both her mammy and dad,
The cause of her illness no one could come nigh,
For all that, she said, was alas! I shall die.

The doctor was sent for, and came in all haste,
In desperate cases there's no time to waste;
He smelt of his cane, and he turn'd up his eye
Yet Celia said doctor, alas! I shall die.

He next felt her pulse, cry'd, hem, and then, ha!
And canvast in thought o'er the physical law,
Paracelsus , or Galen , could not shew him why,

" You — tell the history of mine eyes?
Well — some men's fancies are unruly!
'T would take three volumes at the least —
Ay — twenty, — if you told it truly."
" No matter: let me try the task,
Though possibly my heart may rue it,
If, gazing on their light meanwhile,
I strive to render justice to it.

" One morn — 't was twenty Mays ago —
The meadows gleamed with flowery whiteness,

Ye sister Muses, do not ye repine,
That I two sisters do with nine compare,
Since each of these is far more truly rare,
Than the whole troop of all the heav'nly nine.
But if she ask me which is more divine,
I anwer, like to their twin eyes they are,
Of which each is more bright than brightest star,
Yet neither doth more bright than other shine.

Sisters of spotless fame, of whom alone
Malicious tongue takes pleasure to speak well,
How should I you commend, sith either one

Mine eye with all the deadly sins is fraught:
First Proud, sith it presumed to look so high;
A watchman being made, stood gazing by,
And Idle, took no heed till I was caught:
And Envious, bears envy that my thought
Should in his absence be to her so nigh:
To Kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,
And so consent gave to a murder wrought:
And Covetous, it never would remove
From her fair hair, gold so doth please his sight:
Unchaste, a bawd between my heart and love:
A Glutton eye, with tears drunk every night.

WHO WAS AFRAID TO SPEAK HIS MIND ON A GREAT QUESTION.

Shame upon thee, craven spirit!
Is it manly, just or brave,
If a truth have shone within thee,
To conceal the light it gave?
Captive of the world's opinion —
Free to speak — but yet a slave?

All conviction should be valiant —
Tell thy truth — if truth it be;
Never seek to stem its current,
Thoughts like rivers find the sea,
It will fit the widening circle
Of Eternal Verity.

Speak thy thought if thou believ'st it,