English

VVhilst youth and error led my wandring minde,
And set my thoughts in heedlesse wayes to range:
All vnawares, a Goddesse chaste I finde,
( Diana -like) to worke my sudden change.
For her no sooner had mine eyes bewraid,
But with disdaine to see me in that place;
With fairest hand, the sweet vnkindest Maid,
Cast water-cold Disdaine vpon my face
Which turn'd my sport into a Harts dispaire,

These plaintiue Verse, the Postes of my desire,
Which haste for succour to her slow regard:
Beare not report of any slender fire,
Forging a griefe to winne a fames reward.
Nor are my passions limnd for outward hew,
For that no colours can depaint my sorrowes:
Delia her selfe, and all the world may view
Best in my face, how cares haue tild deepe sorrowes.
No Bayes I seeke to decke my mourning brow,

Goe wailing Verse, the Infants of my loue,
Minerua -like, brought foorth without a mother:
Present the Image of the cares I proue,
Witnesse your Fathers griefe exceedes all other
Sigh out a Storie of her cruell deedes,
With interrupted accents of despaire:
A Monument that whosoeuer reedes,
May iustly praise, and blame my louelesse Faire.
Say her disdaine hath dryed vp my blood,

Vnto the boundlesse Ocean of thy beautie,
Runnes this poore Riuer, charg'd with streames of zeale:
Returning thee the tribute of my dutie,
Which here my loue, my youth, my plaints reueale.
Here I vnclaspe the Booke of my charg'd soule,
Where I haue cast th'accounts of all my care:
Here haue I summ'd my sighs, here I inrole
How they were spent for thee; looke what they are:
Looke on the deere expences of my youth,
And see how iust I reckon with thine eies:
Examine well thy beautie with my truth,

TO HER MAJESTY .

When first the kingdom to thy virtues due
Rose from the billowy deep in distant view,
When Albion's isle, old Ocean's peerless pride.
Tower'd in imperial state above the tide;
What bright ideas of the new domain
Form'd the fair prospect of thy promis'd reign!
And well with conscious joy thy breast might beat
That Albion was ordain'd thy regal seat:
Lo! this the land, where Freedom's sacred rage
Has glow'd untam'd through many a martial age.

To him who is of kin to thee give his due, and to the poor and to the wayfarer: this will be best for those who seek the face of God; and with them it shall be well.
Whatever ye put out at usury to increase it with the substance of others shall have no increase from God: but whatever ye shall give in alms, as seeking the face of God, shall be doubled to you.

Why mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast eye,
That eye where mirth, where fancy, used to shine?
Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh;
Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine.

Art thou not lodged in Fortune's warm embrace?
Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care?
Bless'd in thy song, and bless'd in every grace
That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair?

" Damon, " said he, " thy partial praise restrain,
Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore:
Alas! his very praise awakes my pain,

II

Again the Trumpet's intermitted Sound
Rouls the wide Circuit of Creation round,
An universal Concourse to prepare
Of all that ever breath'd the vital Air,
In some wide Field, which active Whirlwinds sweep,
Drive Cities, Forests, Mountains to the Deep,
To smooth, and Lengthen out the Unbounded Space,
And Spread an Area for all Human Race:
Now Monuments prove faithful to their Trust,
And render back their long-committed Dust,
Now Charnels Rattle; scatter'd Limbs, and all

Patron of verse, O Halifax , attend,
The muse"s fav"rite, and the poet"s friend!
Approaching joys my ravish"d thoughts inspire:
I feel the transport; and my soul"s on fire!

Again Britannia rears her awful head:
Her fears, transplanted, to her foes are fled.
Again her standard she displays to view;
And all its faded lillies bloom anew.
Here beauteous Liberty salutes the sight,
Still pale, nor yet recover"d of her fright,
Whilst here Religion , smiling to the skies,
Her thanks expresses with up-lifted eyes.

The world is ours again —
Ours is the heavenly rout —
For, as the healing rain
Freshens the rose,
Sadness has made us whole
After the bitter drought,
And the despairing soul
Blossoms and glows.
Sing, heart, sing, lips, sing, promise of the morrow,
Love is not Love that has not tasted sorrow.

All, all is ours again —
The hour with wonder fraught —
The passions near to pain