EDWARD, LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY. (1581-1648.) LOVE'S ETERNITY. Portions of An Ode, upon a Question moved whether Love should Continue for Ever, published among his Occasional Verses, 1665. His Poems have been edited by Mr. Churton Collins (London, 1881). 0 NO, Beloved: I am most sure As being with the soul entire, Must with it evermore endure. Else should our souls in vain elect, They gave a perishing effect. These eyes again thine eyes shall see, And hands again these hands enfold, For if no use of sense remain, When bodies once this life forsake Why should they ever rise again? An if every imperfect mind Make love the end of knowledge here, All imperfection is refined! So when from hence we shall be gone, As one another's mystery, Each shall be both, yet both but one. GEORGE HERBERT. (1593-1633-) VIRTUE. From The Temple, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, 1633Dr. Grosart's edition of the Complete Works of Herbert in the Fuller Worthies Library, 3 vols., 1874, is the standard modern edition. I WEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright! The bridal of the earth and sky,— The dew shall weep thy fall to-night: Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, My music shows ye have your closes Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, THE COLLAR. STRUCK the board, and cried, "No more; What, shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn Have I no bays to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age Which petty thoughts have made; and made to thee While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears: To suit and serve his need Deserves his load." But as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild Methought I heard one calling, "Child"; LOVE. LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, "A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here": "I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear, I cannot look on Thee!" Love took my hand and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?" "Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve." "And know you not," says Love, "Who bore the blame?” "My dear, then I will serve." "You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat." So I did sit and eat. FRANCIS QUARLES. (1592-1644.) "PHOSPHOR, BRING THE DAY." From the Emblems, Divine and Moral, 1635. Quarles's Works, edited by Dr. Grosart, are in the Chertsey Worthies Library (3 vols., 1880). WILLT ne'er be morning? Will that promised light Ne'er break, and clear those clouds of night? Whose conquering ray May chase these fogs: sweet Phosphor, bring the day. How long, how long shall these benighted eyes These horrid mists: sweet Phosphor, bring the day. Let those whose eyes, like owls, abhor the light-- How sad delay Afflicts dull hopes! Sweet Phosphor, bring the day. Alas! my light-in-vain-expecting eyes Can find no objects but what rise From this poor mortal blaze, a dying spark Of Vulcan's forge, whose flames are dark,— A dangerous, dull, blue-burning light, As melancholy as the night: Here's all the suns that glister in the sphere Heaven's loitering lamp: sweet Phosphor, bring the day. Blow, Ignorance. O thou, whose idle knee Rocks earth into a lethargy, And with thy sooty fingers hast benight The world's fair cheeks, blow, blow thy spite; Since thou hast puffed our greater taper, do Puff on, and out the lesser too. |