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MIDRIGALS AND EPIGRAMS.

TO SLEEP.

How comes it, Sleep, that thou
Even kisses me affords
Of her, dear her, so far who's absent now?
How did I hear those words,
Which rocks might move, and move the pines to

bow?
Ah me! before half day
Why didst thou steal away?
Return, I thine for ever will remain,
If thou wilt bring with thee that guest again.

A PLEASANT DECEIT.

OVER a crystal source
Iolas laid his face,
Of purling streams to see the restless course.
But scarce he had o'ershadowed the place,
When in the water he a child espies,
So like himself in stature, face, and eyes,
That glad he rose, and cried,
“ Dear mates approach, see whom I have descried,
The boy of whom strange stories shepherds tell,
Oft called Hylas, dwelleth in this well.”

EPITAPH.

The bawd of justice, he who laws controll’d,
And made them fawn and frown as he got gold,
That Proteus of our state, whose heart and mouth
Were farther distant than in north from south,
That cormorant, who made himself so gross
On people's ruin, and the prince's loss,
Is gone to Hell; and though he here did evil,
He there perchance may prove on honest devil.

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A TRANSLATION,

Fience robbers were of old
Exild the champaign ground,
From hamlets chay'd, in cities kill'd, or bound,
And only woods, caves, mountains, did them hold :
But now, when all is sold,
Woods, mountains, caves, to good men be refuge,
And do the guiltless lodge,
And clad in purple gowns
The greatest thieves command within the towns.

FLOWERS OF SION.

R19x from those fragrant climes, thce now embrace ;
Unto this world of ours, 0 haste thy race,
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest share,
Join thy blue wheels to hasten time that low'ry,
And lazy minutes turn to perfect hours ;

The night and death too long a league have made,
To stow the world in horrour's ugly shade.
Shake from thy locks a day with saffron rays
So fair, that it outshine all other days;
And yet do not presume, great eye of light,
To be that which this day must make so bright.
See an eternal Sun hastes to arise ;
Not from the eastern blushing seas or skjes,
Or any stranger worlds Heav'ns concave have,
But from the darkness of the hollow grave.
And this is that all-powerful Sun above [move.
That crown'd thy brows with rays, first made thee
Light's trumpeters, ye need not from your bow'rs
Proclaim this day ; this the angelic pow'rs
Have done for you: but now an opal hue
Bepaints Heaven's crystal to the longing view :
Earth's late-hid colours shine, light doth adorn
The world, and, weeping joy, forth comes the morn;
And with her, as from a lethargic trance
The breath return'd, that bodies doth advance,
Which two sad nights in rock lay coffin'd dead,
And with an iron guard environed :
Life out of death, light out of darkness springs,
From a base jail forth comes the King of kings ;
What late was mortal, thrall’d to every woe
That lackeys life, or upon sense doth grow,
Immortal is, of an eternal stamp,
Far brighter beaming than the morning lamp.

BENEATH a sable veil, and shadows deep,
Of inaccessible and dimming light,
In silence ebon clouds more black than night,
The world's great Mind his secrets hid doth keep:

Through those thick mists when any mortal wight
Aspires, with halting pace, and

eyes
that

weep
To pry, and in his mysteries to creep.
With thunders he and lightnings blasts their sight.
O Sun invisible, that dost abide
Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark,
Where with thy proper rays thou dost thee hide,
O ever-shining, never full-seen mark,
To guide me in life's night, thy light me show;
The more I search of thee the less I know,

New doth the Sun appear,
The mountains' snows decay,
Crown'd with frail flow'rs forth comes the infant
My soul, time posts away,

[year;
And thou, yet in that frost
Which flow'r and fruit hath lost,
As if all here immortal were, dost stay: .
For shame! thy powers awake,

[black, Look to that Heaven which never night makes And there at that immortal Sun's bright rays, Deck thee with flow’rs, which fear not rage of days.

SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flow'rs:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bow'rs
'Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs.
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs

(Attir’d in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverènd eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.
As when it happeneth that some lovely town
Unto a barbarous beseiger falls,
Who both by sword and flame himself instals,
And shameless it in tears and blood doth drown;
Her beauty spoild, her citizens made thralls,
His spite yet cannot so her all throw down,
But that some statue, pillar of renown,
Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls :
So after all the spoil, disgrace and wreck, [bin'd,
That time, the world, and death, could bring com-
Amidst that mass of ruins they did make,
Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind :
From this so high transcendent rapture springs,
That I, all else defac'd, not envy kings.

THE

SONG OF THE MUSES AT PARNASSUS.

At length we see those eyes,
Which cheer both Earth and skies;
Now, ancient Caledon,
Thy beauties heighten, richer robes put on,
And let young joys to all thy parts arise.
Here, could thy prince still stay,
Each month should turn to May ;

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