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I'LL bid my hyacinth to blow,
The hollow bower, and myrtle tree.
There, all his wild-wood scents to bring,
Come to my close and clustering bower,
With all thy rural echoes come,
Where'er thy morning breath has play'd,
Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wand'ring Wind of fairy land!
For sure from some enchanted isle,
Where Heaven and Love their Sabbath hold,
Where pure and happy spirits smile,
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould;
From some green Eden of the deep,
From some sweet Paradise afar,
Thy music wanders, distant, lost; Where Nature lights her leading star, And love is never, never cross'd.
Oh! gentle gale of Eden bowers,
In nature's more propitious home
Name to thy lov'd Elysian groves,
That o'er enchanted spirits twine, A fairer form than cherub loves, And let the name be CAROLINE.
GEM of the crimson-colour'd even,
So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
To peace, to pleasure, and to love,
Descends and burns to meet with thee.
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
Oh! sacred to the fall of day,
Queen of propitious stars, appear!
And early rise, and long delay,
Shine on her chosen green resort,
Where trees the sunward summit crown; And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down.
Shine on her sweetly-scented road,
Thou star of evening's purple dome! That lead'st the nightingale abroad, And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.
Shine, where my charmer's sweeter breath
Where, winnow'd, by the gentle air,
Like shadows on the mountain snow.
Thus, ever thus, at day's decline,
GAZE not on beauty too much, lest it blast thee; nor too long, lest it blind thee; nor too near, lest it burn thee: if thou like it, it deceives thee; if thou love it, it disturbs thee; if thou lust after it, it destroys thee: if virtue accompany it, it is the heart's paradise; if vice associate it, it is the soul's purgatory; it is the wise man's boon-fire, and the fool's furnace.
CARRY a watchful eye upon those familiars that are either silent at thy faults, or soothe thee in thy frailties, or excuse thee in thy follies; for such are either cowards, or flatterers, or fools: if thou entertain them in prosperity, the coward will leave thee in thy dangers, the flatterer will quit thee in thy adversity, but the fool will never forsake QUARLES.
TRUTH is the glory of time, and the daughter of eternity; a title of the highest grace, and a note of divine nature; she is the life of religion, the light of love, the grace of wit, and the crown of wisdom: she is the beauty of valour, the brightness of honour, the blessing of reason, and the joy of faith: her truth is pure gold, her time is right precious, her word is most gracious, and her will is most glorious; her essence is in God, and her dwelling with his servants; her will in his wisdom, and her work to his glory: she is honoured in love, and graced in constancy; in patience admired, and in charity beloved: she is the angel's worship, the virgin's fame, the saint's bliss, and the mar tyr's crown; she is the king's greatness, and his council's goodness;
his subjects' peace and his kingdom's praise: she is the life of learning, and the light of the law; the honour of trade, and the grace of labour: she hath a pure eye, a plain hand, a piercing wit, and a perfect heart she is wisdom's walk in the way of holiness, and takes up her rest but in the resolution of goodness: her tongue never trips, her heart never faints, her hand never fails, and her faith never fears: her church is without schism, her city without fraud, her court without vanity, and her kingdom without villany. In sum, so infinite is her excellence in the construction of all sense, that I will thus only conclude in the wonder of her worth ;-she is the nature of perfection in the perfection of nature, where God in Christ shews the glory of Christianity. N. BRETON, 1616.
T** L** H**
SIX YEARS OLD, DURING A SICKNESS.
SLEEP breathes at last from out thee,
I set me down, and think
Of all thy winning ways;
Thy sidelong pillowed meekness,
Thy heart in pain and weakness,
The little trembling hand
These, these are things that may demand
Sorrows I've had severe ones,
ETERNAL and Omnipotent Unseen!
Who badst the world with all its lives complete Start from the void and thrill beneath thy feet, Thee I adore with reverence serene;
Here in the fields,-thine own Cathedral meet, Built by thyself-blue-roofed-and hung with green, Wherein all breathing things in concert sweet, Organed by winds, perpetual hymns repeat.
Here hast thou spread that book to every eye,
Whose tongue and truth all-all may read and prove;
On whose three blessed leaves Earth-Ocean-Sky,
Thine own right hand hath stamped Might-Justice-LoveTrue trinity which binds in due degree,
God, Man, and Brute, in mutual unity.