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?
'T was 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
Is this a fast, to keep
The larder lean,
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or rag'd to go,
Or show
A downcast look, and sour?
Who would have thought my shrivelled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown ;
Where they together,
All the hard weather,
WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "Let us," said he, "pour on him all we
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way;
Dead to the world, keep house un- Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor,
When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay.
"For if I should," said he, "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature; So both should losers be.
"Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast.'
HITHER thou com'st. The busy wind all night
Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, Rained on thy bed And harmless head;
And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light,
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing Unto that Providence whose unseen arm Curbed them, and clothed thee well and
All things that be praise Him; and had Their lesson taught them when first
So hills and valleys into singing break; And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue,
While active winds and streams both run | These are your walks, and you have
I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
O holy hope and high humility, -
High as the heavens above!
showed them me
To kindle my cold love.
For sure if others knew me such,
Such as myself I know,
I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praised now.
The praise, therefore, which I have heard,
Delights not so my mind,
As those things make my heart afeard,
Which in myself ↳ find:
And I had rather to be blamed,
So I were blameless made,
Than for much virtue to be famed,
When I no virtues had.
Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.
And when a virtuous man hath erred,
If praised himself he hear,
It makes him grieve, and more afeard, Than if he slandered were.
Lord! therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appear to be
In any act of mine,
Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.
By her help I also now
Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten glad-
In the very gall of sadness.
The dull loneness, the black shade,
That these hanging vaults have made;
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;
This black den which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
thee;
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to naught but earth are born,—
Let my life no longer be
Than I am in love with thee!
COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.
SHE doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustleing.
By a daisy, whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.
How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays :
And their incessant labors see
Crowned from some single herb or
Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do
To weave the garlands of repose.
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among these plants will grow.
Society is all but rude
To this delicious solitude.
No white nor red was ever seen
So amorous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name.
Little, alas, they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed!
Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less
Withdraws into its happiness,
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates transcending these,
Far other worlds and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide;
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was the happy garden state,
While man there walked without
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But 't was beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone.
How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new!
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
And, as it works, the industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome
hours
Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers?
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along,
The listening winds received this song:
What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where he the huge sea monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storins and prelates' rage.
He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet,
With apples, plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars, chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
O, let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexic bay."
a Thus sang they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
IT was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger
lies;
Nature, in awe of him,
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