HEN, Death, why should'st thou dreaded be

Tand'shund as some great misery,

that cur'st our woes and strife?
only because we're ill resolved,
and in dark error's clouds involved,
think Death the end of Life;
which most untrue,

each place we view,

gives testimonies rife.

The flowers that we behold each year
in chequer'd meads their heads to rear,
new rising from their tomb;
the eglantines and honey-daisies,
and all those pretty smiling faces,
that still in age grow young;
even these do cry

that though men die,

yet life from death may come.

The towering cedars tall and strong
on Taurus and Mount Lebanon
in time they all decay;

yet from their old and wasted roots

at length again grow up young shoots,
that are as fresh and gay;

then why should we

thus fear to die,

whose death brings life for aye?

The seed that in the earth we throw
doth putrify before it grow,

corrupting in its urn;

but at the spring it flourisheth,
when Phoebus only cherisheth
Iwith life at his return.

Doth Time's Sun this?
Then sure it is

Time's Lord can more perform.

J. HAGTHORPE

477

478

THE

ON MAN'S MORTALITY

HE World's a bubble, and the life of Man
less than a span;-

in his conception wretched, from the womb,

so to the tomb ;—

curst from his cradle, and brought up to years
with cares and fears.

Who then to frail mortality shall trust
but limns on water, or but writes in dust.

Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest,
what life is best?

Courts are but only superficial schools

to dandle fools:

the rural parts are turned into a den
of savage men:

and where's a city from foul vice so free,
but may be termed the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed,
or pain his head:

those that live single, take it for a curse,
or do things worse:

these would have Children:-those that have them,

moan

or wish them gone:

what is it, then, to have or have no wife,
but single thraldom, or a double strife?

Our own affections still at home to please
is a disease:

to cross the seas to any foreign soil,

peril and toil:

wars with their noise affright us; when they cease,
we are worse in peace;

what then remains, but that we still should cry
for being born, or, being born, to die?

FRANCIS LORD BACON

THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH

OF HER FAUN

'HE wanton troopers riding by

Thave shot my faun and it will dye.

479

It is a wond'rous thing, how fleet
'twas on those little silver feet:
with what a pretty skipping grace
it oft would challenge me the race:
and when 't had left me far away,
'twould stay, and run again, and stay:
for it was nimbler much than hindes;
and trod, as on the four winds.

O help! O help! I see it faint!
and dye as calmely as a saint:
see how it weeps. The tears do come
sad, slowly dropping like a gumme.
So weeps the wounded balsome: so
the holy frankincense doth flow;
the brotherless Heliades

melt in such amber tears as these.
I in a golden vial will

keep these two crystal tears; and fill
it till it do o'erflow with mine;
then place it in Diana's shrine.
Now my sweet faun is vanish'd to
whither the swans and turtles go:
in fair Elysium to endure

with milk-white lambs and ermins pure.
O do not run too fast, for I

will but bespeak thy grave, and dye."

THE

FAITH IN THE UNSEEN

A. MARVELL

HERE are who, darkling and alone,
would wish the weary night were gone,
though dawning morn should only show
the secret of their unknown woe:
who pray for sharpest throbs of pain
to ease them of doubt's galling chain:
"only disperse the cloud," they cry,

"and if our fate be death, give light and let us die.”

480

Unwise I deem them, Lord, unmeet
to profit by Thy chastenings sweet,
for Thou wouldst have us linger still
upon the verge of good or ill,
that on Thy guiding hand unseen
our undivided hearts may lean,

and thus our frail and foundering bark

glide in the narrow wake of Thy beloved ark.

'Tis so in war-the champion true
loves victory more when dim in view
he sees her glories gild afar

the dusty edge of stubborn war,

than if the untrodden bloodless field
the harvest of her laurels yield;

let not my bark in calm abide,

but win her fearless way against the chafing tide.

J. KEBLE

TO THE NIGHT

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night!

out of the misty eastern cave

where all the long and lone daylight
thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
which make thee terrible and dear,-
swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray
star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
kiss her until she be wearied out,
then wander o'er city, and sea, and land
touching all with thine opiate wand-
come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sigh'd for thee;

when light rode high, and the dew was gone,

and noon lay heavy on flower and tree,

and the weary Day turn'd to his rest

lingering like an unloved guest,

I sigh'd for thee.

481

Thy brother Death came, and cried
wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
murmur'd like a noon-tide bee

shall I nestle near thy side?
wouldst thou me? And I replied,
· No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
soon, too soon-

sleep will come when thou art fled;
of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovéd Night—
swift be thine approaching flight,
come soon, soon!

TO THE WEST WIND

P. B. SHELLEY

WILD West wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,

thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
who charioted to their dark wintry bed

the winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
each like a corpse within its grave, until
thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(driving sweet buds, like flocks, to feed in air)
with living hues and odours, plain and hill:
wild spirit, which art moving every where:
destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
what if my leaves are falling like its own!
the tumult of thy mighty harmonies

will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce,
my spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!