BY CHARLES D. DRAKE .

The flower that oft beneath the ray
Of sunlit warmth has bloomed,
Will fade and shrink from life away
If to a dungeon doomed: —
But even here, should chance disclose
Some beam of genial light,
Its head to that the dying rose
Will turn from gloom and night.

The cord that, gently touched, will thrill
With music's softest strain,
If rudely swept, at careless will,

Love as a Prynce to shew his power and myght
Gave hope off me the rule and upper hande
And yet dispayre with his blacke troope in spight
Encounters styll with hope and his green band
But love hymselfe as honor off the forte
Which is my harte hath placed hope as chiefe
And yett dispayre encamps in warlyke sorte
About the place and ke[e]ps from thence relyefe
Rygor the Cannon daylye thereon beats
And foule disdayne doth lead them to the walls
Cruell refuse for parlye none entreats
But summons all to yeld them selffs as thralls

Bid the fond Mother spill her Infants Blood,
The hungry Epicure not think of Food;
Bid the Antartick touch the Artick Pole:
When these obey I'll force Love from my Soul.
As Light and Heat compose the Genial Sun,
So Love and I essentially are one:
E'er your Advice a thousand ways I try'd
To ease the inherent Pain, but 'twas deny'd;
Tho' I resolv'd, and griev'd, and almost dy'd,
Then I would needs dilate the mighty Flame,
Play the Coquet, hazard my dearest Fame:
The modish Remedy I try'd in vain,
One thought of him contracts it all again.

What is't you mean, that I am thus approach'd,
Dare you to hope, that I may be debauch'd?
For your seducing Words the same implies,
In begging Pity with a soft Surprize,
For one who loves, and sighs, and almost dies.
In ev'ry Word and Action doth appear,
Something I hate and blush to see or hear;
At first your Love for vast Respect was told,
Till your excess of Manners grew too bold,
And did your base, designing Thoughts unfold.
When a Salute did seem to Custom due,
With too much Ardour you'd my Lips pursue;

1

I would have my own vision
The world's vision:
The beauty settled in my mind
A lamp in a busy street.

Yet these activities are too intimate,
Made for a solitary sense:
However builded the emotion
The imagination's mute.

Could voice join mind's eye and scream
Its vision out
Then the world would halt its toil
Passionless, time unreal.

False Craessyde have yow chaungde your mynde
from hym that loved yow so well
And is your faith lyke to the wynde
false Craessyde then farewell a

I thinke yow better loste then fownde
of me that loved yow so well
For who will builde on Sandye grownde
false Craesside fare yow well a

My harte that sometymes was your owne
and lovede yow butt to to well
Hath founde that yow have falsehoode showne
false Craesside fare yow well a

Butt hee that hath your favoure wonne
from me that lovede yow so well

Farewell Crueltye lodged in greate Bewtye
farewell Bewtie that lodgeste great crueltie
Though nowe my woes thow weye nott
yett one daye thinkinge on my Loyalltie
Then shall yow saye though nowe yow will nott
who loved me moste my love enjoyed nott.

Lett those that lyve in love, lament the lovers fitts
and such as riches crave devyse to hepe upp wealth
Let those that knowlege seek to study frame their witts
and such as are diseased seke meanes to have their helth
Let those that valyaunt bee boast of their battred shield
and such applye to please, as doe great Princes haunt
Let those that honor seeke, goe venture in the field
and such as lyve in courte their dayly favors vaunt
Let those that Captyves scorne, not hazard free estate
and such lyke of their lotts as sitt in fortunes lapp

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXXXII

I.

Say, Myra! why is gentle Love
A stranger to that mind
Which pity and esteem can move,
Which can be just and kind?

II.

Is it because you fear to share
The ills that love molest,
The jealous doubt the tender care
That rack the am'rous breast?

III.

Alas! by some degree of wo
We ev'ry bliss must gain:
The heart can ne'er a transport know
That never feels a pain.

IN HER TEMPLE AT STOWE .

To the Same.

I.

Fair Venus! whose delightful shrine surveys
Its front reflected in the silver lake,
These humble off'rings which thy servant pays,
Fresh flow'rs and myrtle wreaths, propitious take.

II.

If less my love exceeds all other love
Than Lucy's charms all other charms excel,
Far from my breast each soothing hope remove,
And there let sad Despair for ever dwell.

III.

But if my soul is fill'd with her alone,