Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up, without a sound!
Fountain-heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls!
A midnight bell, a parting groan!
These are the sounds we feed upon;

Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley:
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

ROBERT HERRICK:

1591-1674.

To Blossoms.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

GEORGE HERBERT:

1593 - 1632.

Peace,

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave,

And asked if Peace were there :

A hollow sound did seem to answer, " No
Go seek elsewhere.'

"This is the lace of Peace's coat;

I will search out the matter."

But, while I looked, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower—

The crown imperial: "Sure," said I,
"Peace at the root must dwell."
But when I digged, I saw a worm devour
What showed so well.

At length I met a reverend, good old man ;
Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began:-
"There was a prince of old

In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
Of flock and fold.

"He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes:

But, after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat,

Which many, wondering at, got some of those, To plant and set.

"It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth:

For they that taste it do rehearse,

That virtue lies therein,—

A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth,
By flight from sin.

"Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,

And grows for you:

Make bread of it; and that repose

And peace, which everywhere

With so much earnestness you do
You'll find is there."

pursue

ABRAHAM COWLEY:

1618-1667.

The Swallow.

FOOLISH prater! what dost thou
So early at my window do
With thy tuneless serenade ?
Well it had been had Tereus * made
Thee as dumb as Philomel;
There his knife had done but well.
In thy undiscovered nest

Thou dost all the winter rest,

And dreamest o'er thy summer joys,
Free from the stormy season's noise;
Free from the ill thou'st done to me;
Who disturbs or seeks out thee?
Hadst thou all the charming notes
Of the woods' poetic throats,
All thy art could never pay
What thou'st ta'en from me away.
Cruel bird! thou'st ta'en away
A dream out of my arms to-day;
A dream that ne'er must equalled be
By all that waking eyes may see:
Thou this damage to repair,
Nothing half so sweet or fair,
Nothing half so good canst bring,

Though men say thou bring'st the spring.

JOHN MILTON:

1608-1674.

66

Introduction to Paradise Lost."

Or Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste

* A reference to the mythological story of Tereus, who deprived Philomela, the daughter of Pandion, of her tongue. She was afterwards changed into a nightingale.

Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man

Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire

That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of chaos: or, if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou knowest; thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine; what is low raise and support;
That to the highth of this great argument
I may assert eternal providence,

And justify the ways of God to men.

Say first, for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, Nor the deep tract of hell; say first what cause Moved our grand parents, in that happy state, Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off From their Creator, and transgress His will For one restraint, lords of the world besides? Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? The infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile, Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived The mother of mankind, what time his pride Had cast him out from heaven, with all his host Of rebel angels; by whose aid aspiring To set himself in glory above his peers, He trusted to have equalled the Most High, If He opposed; and with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God Raised impious war in heaven, and battle proud, With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,