To him that died to live, and would not be
To be there where he would.-Here bury we
This heavenly earth; here let it softly sleep,
The fairest Shepherd of the fairest sheep."
So all the body kiss'd, and homeward went to
weep.

So home their bodies went to seek repose,
But at the grave they left their souls behind :
O who the force of love celestial knows!
That can the chains of nature's self unbind,
Sending the body home without the mind.
Ah, blessed virgin! what high angel's art
Can ever count thy tears, or sing thy smart,
When ev'ry nail that pierc'd his hand, did pierce
thy heart?

So Philomel, perch'd on an aspen sprig,
Weeps all the night her lost virginity,
And sings her sad tale to the merry twig,
That dances at such joyful misery,

Nor ever lets sweet rest invade her eye;

But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest, For fear soft sleep should steal into her breast, Expresses in her song grief not to be express'd.

So when the lark (poor bird!) afar espy'th
Her yet unfeather'd children (whom to save
She strives in vain) slain by the fatal scythe,
Which from the meadow her green locks doth

shave,

That their warm nest is now become their grave;
The woful mother up to heaven springs,
And all about her plaintive notes she flings,
And their untimely fate most pitifully sings.

PART IV.

CHRIST'S TRIUMPH AFTER DEATH.

THE ARGUMENT.

Christ's triumph after death, 1st, In his resurrection, manifested by its effects in the creatures-in himself—2d, In his ascension into heaven; whose joys are described, 1st, By the access of all good, the blessed society of the saints, angels,-the sweet quiet and peace enjoyed under God-the beauty of the place;-the carity (as the school calls it) of the saints' bodies-the impletion of the appetite-the joy of the senses, &c.-2d, By the absence of all evil-by the access of all good again—in the glory of the holy city-in the beatifical vision of God.

BUT now the second morning, from her bower,
Began to glister in her beams; and now
The roses of the day began to flower

In the eastern garden; for heaven's smiling brow
Half insolent for joy began to show :

The early sun came lively dancing out,

And the brag lambs ran wantoning about,

That heaven and earth might seem in triumph both to shout.

The engladden'd Spring, forgetful now to weep, Began to eblazon from her leafy bed;

The waking swallow broke her half year's sleep, And every bush lay deeply purpured

With violets; the wood's late wintry head

Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,

And his bald trees put on their green attire, Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

And now the taller sons (whom Titan warms)
Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds,
Dandled the morning's childhood in their arms,
And, if they chanced to slip the prouder pines,
The under corylets' did catch the shines,

To gild their leaves; saw never happier year
Such joyful triumph and triumphant cheer,
As though the aged world anew created were.

Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red ?
Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
And some new-found-out bridegroom mean'st to
wed:

Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelled,

So never let the spiteful canker waste you,

So never let the heavens with lightning blast you, Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?

Answer me, Jordan, why thy crooked tide
So often wanders from his nearest way,

As though some other way thy stream would slide,
And fain salute the place where something lay.
And you sweet birds, that, shaded from the ray,
Sit carolling and piping grief away,

The while the lambs to hear you dance and play, Tell me, sweet birds, what is it you so fain would say?

1 Copses.

And thou, fair spouse of Earth, that every year
Gett'st such a numerous issue of thy bride,

How chance thou hotter shin'st, and draw'st, more near ?

Sure thou somewhere some worthy sight hast spied, That in one place for joy thou canst not bide: And you, dead swallows, that so lively now Through the flit air your winged passage row, How could new life into your frozen ashes flow?

Ye primroses and purple violets,

Tell me, why blaze ye from your leafy bed,
And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets,
As though you would somewhere be carried,
With fresh perfumes and velvets garnished?
But ah! I need not ask, 'tis surely so,

You all would to your Saviour's triumph go: There would ye all await, and humble homage do.

There should the earth herself, with garlands

new

And lovely flowers embellished, adore:
Such roses never in her garland grew,
Such lilies never in her breast she wore,
Like beauty never yet did shine before:

There should the Sun another Sun behold,

From whence himself borrows his locks of gold, That kindle heaven and earth with beauties manifold.

There might the violet and primrose sweet,
Beams of more lively, and more lovely grace,
Arising from their beds of incense, meet;
There should the swallow see new life embrace
Dead ashes, and the grave unveil his face,