American Poems ( 1625-1892

The Seeds-man too doth lavish out his grain,
In hope the more he casts the more to gain.
The Gardner now superfluous branches lops,
And poles erects for his young clambring hops;
Now digs, then sowes his herbs, his flowers, & roots,
And carefully manures his trees of fruits.
The Pleiades their influence now give

And all that seem'd as dead afresh doth live:
The croaking frogs, whom nipping winter kil'd,
Like birds now chirp and hop about the field;
The Nightingale, the black bird, and the Thrush
Now tune their layes on sprayes of every bush;
The wanton frisking Kid and soft-fleec'd Lambs
Do jump and play before their feeding Dams,
The tender tops of budding grass they crop,
They joy in what they have but more in hope;
For though the frost hath lost his binding power,
Yet many a fleece of snow and stormy shower
Doth darken Sol's bright eye, makes us remember
The pinching North-west wind of cold December.

330

"My second moneth is April, green and fair,
Of longer dayes and a more temperate Air;
The Sun in Taurus keeps his residence,
And with his warmer beams glanceth from thence.
This is the month whose fruitful showrs produces
All set and sown for all delights and uses:

The Pear, the Plum, and Apple-tree now flourish,

The Grass grows long the hungry beast to nourish;
The Primrose pale and azure violet

Among the virduous grass hath nature set,

That when the Sun on 's Love, the earth, doth shine,

These might as lace set out her garment fine.

The fearfull bird his little house now builds

In trees and walls, in Cities and in fields;

The outside strong, the inside warm and neat,
A natural Artificer compleat.

The clocking hen her chirping chickins leads,

With wings & beak defends them from the gleads.
"My next and last is fruitfull pleasant May,
Wherein the earth is clad in rich aray;
The Sun now enters loving Gemini,

And heats us with the glances of his eye,

Our thicker rayment makes us lay aside

Lest by his fervor we be torrifi'd.

All flowers the Sun now with his beams discloses,

Except the double pinks and matchless Roses.

Now swarms the busy, witty, honey-Bee,

Whose praise deserves a page from more then me.
The cleanly Huswifes Dary 's now in th' prime,
Her shelves and firkins fill'd for winter time.
The meads with Cowslips, Honey-suckles dight;
One hangs his head, the other stands upright,
But both rejoyce at th' heavens clear smiling face,
More at her showers, which water them a space.
For fruits my Season yields the early Cherry,
The hasty Peas, and wholsome cool Strawberry.
More solid fruits require a longer time;

Each Season bath his fruit, so hath each Clime:

Each man his own peculiar excellence,

But none in all that hath preheminence."

Sweet fragrant Spring, with thy short pittance fly;

Let some describe thee better then can I.

Yet above all this priviledg is thine;

Thy dayes still lengthen, without least decline.

1650.

FROM

THE FOUR MONARCHYES

Next o're the Helespont a bridge he made
Of Boats together coupled and there laid;

But winds and waves those iron bands did break,
To cross the sea such strength he found too weak;
Then whips the sea, and with a mind most vain
He fetters cast therein the same to chain;
The work-men put to death the bridge that made,
Because they wanted skill the same to 've staid.
Seven thousand Gallyes chain'd by Tyrians skill
Firmly at last accomplished his will.
Seven dayes and nights his host without least stay
Was marching o're this new-devised way.
Then in Abidus plains mustring his forces,
He gloryes in his squadrons and his horses;

ΤΟ

Long viewing them, thought it great happiness
One king so many subjects should possess;
But yet this sight from him produced tears
That none of those could live an hundred years:
What after did ensue had he foreseen,

Of so long time his thoughts had never been.

Of Artubanus he again demands

How of this enterprise his thoughts now stands.
His answer was both sea and land he fear'd;

Which was not vain, as after soon appear'd.
But Xerxes resolute to Thrace goes first:

His Host all Lissus drinks to quench their thirst;
And for his Cattel all Pissyrus Lake

Was scarce enough for each a draught to take.
Then marching on to th' streight Thermopyle,
The Spartan meets him, brave Leonade;

This 'twixt the mountains lyes, half Acre wide,

That pleasant Thessaly from Greece divide.

Two dayes and nights a fight they there maintain,

Till twenty thousand Persians fell down slain;

And all that Army, then dismaid, had fled,

But that a Fugitive discovered

How some might o're the mountains go about

And wound the backs of those brave warriors stout.

They, thus behem'd with multitude of foes,

Laid on more fiercely their deep mortal blows;

None cries for quarter nor yet seeks to run,

But on their ground they die, each Mothers Son.
O noble Greeks, how now degenerate,

Where is the valour of your ancient State
When as one thousand could a million daunt?
Alas, it is Leonades you want!

1650.

CONTEMPLATIONS

Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,

The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,

Were gilded o're by his rich golden head;

Their leaves & fruits seem'd painted, but was true

Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew;

Rapt were my sences at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish; "yet sure," thought I, "If so much excellence abide below,

How excellent is he that dwells on high,

Whose power and beauty by his works we know!

Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light,

That hath this under-world so richly dight."

More Heaven then Earth was here, no winter & no night.

Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye,
Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem'd to aspire:
"How long since thou wast in thine Infancy?

Thy strength and stature, more thy years admire.
Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born,
Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn?
If so, all these as nought Eternity doth scorn."

Then higher on the glistering Sun I gaz'd,
Whose beams was shaded by the leavie Tree.
The more I look'd the more I grew amaz'd,
And softly said: "What glory's like to thee,
Soul of this world, this Universes Eye?
No wonder some made thee a Deity:
Had I not better known, alas, the same had I.

"Thou as a Bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes,
And as a strong man joyes to run a race;

The morn doth usher thee with smiles & blushes,
The Earth reflects her glances in thy face;

Birds, insects, Animals, with Vegative,

Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive,

And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive.

"Thy swift Annual and diurnal Course,

Thy daily streight and yearly oblique path,

Thy pleasing fervor and thy scorching force,

All mortals here the feeling knowledg hath.

Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night;
Quaternal Seasons caused by thy might.

Hail, Creature full of sweetness, beauty, & delight!

"Art thou so full of glory that no Eye

Hath strength thy shining Rayes once to behold?

And is thy splendid Throne erect so high

As to approach it can no earthly mould?

How full of glory, then, must thy Creator be
Who gave this bright light luster unto thee:
Admir'd, ador'd for ever be that Majesty!"

Silent, alone, where none or saw or heard,
In pathless paths I lead my wandring feet,
My humble Eyes to lofty Skyes I rear'd:

To sing some Song my mazed Muse thought meet;

They kept one tune and plaid on the same string,

Seeming to glory in their little Art.

Shall Creatures abject thus their voices raise,

And in their kind resound their makers praise,

Whilst I as mute can warble forth no higher layes?

When present times look back to Ages past,

And men in being fancy those are dead,

It makes things gone perpetually to last,

And calls back moneths and years that long since fled;

It makes a man more aged in conceit

Then was Methuselah or 's grand-sire great,

While of their persons & their acts his mind doth treat. 70

Sometimes in Eden fair he seems to be;

Sees glorious Adam there made Lord of all;
Fancyes the Apple dangle on the Tree,
That turn'd his Sovereign to a naked thral,
Who like a miscreant's driven from that place,
To get his bread with pain and sweat of face,
A penalty impos'd on his backsliding Race.

Here sits our Grandame in retired place,
And in her lap her bloody Cain new born;
The weeping Imp oft looks her in the face,
Bewails his unknown hap and fate forlorn:
His Mother sighs to think of Paradise,
And how she lost her bliss to be more wise,
Believing him that was and is Father of lyes.

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