RICHARD LOVELACE

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY

Where art thou, Sol, while thus the blindfold Day
Staggers out of the east, loses her way,
Stumbling on Night? Rouse thee, illustrious youth,
And let no dull mists choke the light's fair growth.
Point here thy beams; O glance on yonder flocks,
And make their fleeces golden as thy locks!
Unfold thy fair front, and there shall appear
Full Glory flaming in her own free sphere!
Gladness shall clothe the earth; we will instile
The face of things an universal smile.

Say to the sullen Morn, thou com'st to court her,
And wilt command proud Zephyrus to sport her
With wanton gales: his balmy breath shall lick
The tender drops which tremble on her cheek;
Which, rarefied, and in a gentle rain
On those delicious banks distilled again,
Shall rise in a sweet harvest, which discloses
To every blushing bed of new-born roses.

He'll fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow
And frisk in curled meanders; he will throw
A fragrant breath, sucked from the spicy nest
O' th' precious phoenix, warm upon her breast;

5

ΙΟ

155

20

He with a dainty and soft hand wil: trim
And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim.
In silken volumes; wheresoe'er she'll tread,
Bright clouds, like golden fleeces, shall be spread.
Rise, then, fair blue-eyed maid, rise and discover
Thy silver brow, and meet thy golde. lover:
See how he runs, with what a hasty flight,
Into thy bosom, bathed with liquid light.
Fly, fly, profane fogs, far hence fly away!
Taint not the pure streams of the springing day
With your dull influence; it is for you
To sit and scowl upon Night's heavy brow,
Not on the fresh cheeks of the virgin Morn,
Where naught but smiles and ruddy joys are worn.
Fly, then, and do not think with her to stay;
Let it suffice, she'll wear no mask to-day!
Before 1641.

1646.

25

330

35

FROM

THE HOLY NATIVITY

A HYMN SUNG AS BY THE SHEPHERDS

BOTH

We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,

Young Dawn of our Eternal Day!

We saw Thine eyes break from their east
And chase the trembling shades away.

We saw Thee, and we blest the sight;
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.

5

TITYRUS

"Poor World," said I, "what wilt thou do

To entertain this starry Stranger?

Is this the best thou canst bestow—

A cold and not too cleanly manger?
Contend, the powers of heav'n and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth!"

THYRSIS

"Proud World," said I, "cease your contest,

And let the mighty Babe alone.

ΙΟ

The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest;

Love's architecture is his own:

The Babe Whose birth embraves this morn
Made His own bed e'er He was born."

TITYRUS

I saw the curled drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o'er the place's head,
Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow

To furnish the fair Infant's bed.
"Forbear," said I; "be not too bold:
Your fleece is white, but 't is too cold."

THYRSIS

I saw the obsequious seraphims

Their rosy fleece of fire bestow;
For well they now can spare their wings,
Since heav'n itself lies here below.

"Well done," said I; "but are you sure
Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?”

BOTH

No, no, your King's not yet to seek

Where to repose His royal head: See, see, how soon His new-bloomed cheek 'Twixt's mother's breasts is gone to bed! "Sweet choice!" said we; "no way but so Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow."

15

20

25

309

35

CHORUS

She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye;
She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie;
She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle's eyes.

Welcome! though not to those gay flies

Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings, Slippery souls in smiling eyes,

40

45

But to poor shepherds, homespun things,