M ARY

When Stuart reigned, ere yet began
The struggle with the Puritan,
Ere King and Commons met for fight
O'er regal claim and chartered right, —
There fell a day when tidings spread
How for the royal marriage-bed
April had flowered; for surely then
Life was as blossom to man's ken
Around that birth; and who could see,
Where laughing courtiers stooped the knee,
How in the days so soon to be
Lay pains, and penalties, and dread?

And so through chambers where more late

I.

Strephone, in vaine thou bring thy rimes and songs,
Deckt with grave Pindar's old and withered flow'rs;
In vaine thou count'st the faire Europa's wrongs,
And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs.
Thou hast slept never under mirtles' shed,
Or if that passion hath thy soule opprest,
It is but for some Grecian mistris dead.
Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy brest,
How can true love with fables hold a place?
Thou who with fables dost set forth thy love,
Thy love a pretty fable needs must prove,

BY JAMES W. WARD .

In the dreamy hour of night I'll hie,
When the hum is hushed of the weary fly,
When the lamps are lit and the curtains drawn,
And sport on my wings till the morning dawn.
In the festive hall where all is joy,
In the chambers hushed where the sleepers lie;
In the garden bower where the primrose smiles,
And the chirping cricket the hour beguiles;
In these I'll sport through the summer night,
And mortals to vex, I'll bite, I'll bite.

WRITTEN FOR A LITTLE GIRL TO SPEAK ON MAY-DAY, IN THE CHARACTER OF THE VIOLET.


BY JAMES F. CLARKE.


When April's warmth unlocks the clod,
Softened by gentle showers,
The violet pierces through the sod,
And blossoms, first of flowers;
So may I give my heart to God,
In childhood's carly hours.

Some plants, in gardens only found,
Are raised with pains and care;
God scatters violets all around,
They blossom everywhere;
Thus may my love to all abound,

I

As Christ for those who knew not what they did,
So these your sons, for you their mother died.
Now in that wondrous gift your guilt lies hid,
And in their blood your blame stands sanctified.

O Land, behold your sons! O Sons, behold
Your mother! Her proud heart, pierced by the sword,
Still bleeds for you: still to the blood-stained mould
She stoops her eyes — but looks not at her Lord.

II

The Lord of Life, upon the day He died

Amidst a pleasant green
Which sun did seldome see,
Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian queen,
The head of a wild boare hung on a tree;
And driven by zephire's breath
Did fall, and would the lovely youth beneath,
On whom yet scarce appeares
So much of bloud as Venus' eyes shed teares.
But ever as she wept, her antheme was,
Change, cruell change, alas!
My Adon, whilst thou liv'd, was by thee slaine,
Now dead, this lover must thou kill againe?

Fond Progne, chattering wretch,
That is Medea; there
Wilt thou thy younglings hatch?
Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare?
Learne from her frantick face
To seek some fitter place.
What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,
Save Stygian spels, wounds, poyson, iron, fire?

Look how in May the rose,
At sulphure's azure fumes,
In a short space her crimson blush doth lose,
And, all amaz'd, a pallid white assumes.
So time our best consumes,
Makes youth and beauty passe,
And what was pride turnes horrour in our glasse.

In this so wanton and debaucht an Age,
We come to find out Virtue on the Stage;
By a promiscuous Choice it can't be done,
Our nicer Fate compels to You alone.
You, who's triumphant Virtue doth declare,
That Women can withstand the fatal Snare
Of vast Temptation, when she's Young and Fair.
In you the ancient Miracle we see,
(Tho' here we can boast but of One to Three)
Unhurt amidst the mighty Flames you move,
The wond'ring Gazers only Martyrs prove;
Of all your Sex Great Albion must prefer
You the chast Lucrece of her Theater.

Devynelie did your Royall Moate presage
The union of those plants soe sweete soe sharpe
Whereby you temper this our loosser age
With Justice lore, and tune thereto your Harpe.
Soe fates ordaind to figure by your Crest
The goulden senten[c] fostred in your brest.