TO THE NIGHTINGALE

NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May: Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; Oh, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I

WHA

HAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he
On faith and changèd gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds and storms
Unwonted shall admire,

Who so enjoys thee credulous, all gold;
Who always vacant, always amiable,
Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful! Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in

my

Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds
To the stern God of Sea.

vow'd

BRUTUS. GODDESS of shades, and Huntress, who

at will

Walk'st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep,
On thy third reign, the Earth, look now, and tell
What land, what seat of rest thou bidd'st me seek,
What certain seat, where I may worship thee
For aye, with temples vow'd, and virgin choirs.
Diana. BRUTUS, far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now void, it fits thy people. Thither bend
Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat ;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be born of thee, whose dreaded might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

THE HISTORY OF BRITAIN, 1670.

BUT, as a man who had been matchless held

In cunning, over-reach'd where least he thought, To salve his credit, and for very spite,

Still will be tempting him who foils him still,
And never cease, though to his shame the more;
Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time,

About the wine-press where sweet must is pour'd,
Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;
Or surging waves against a solid rock,

Though all to shivers dash'd, the assault renew,
(Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end,
So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse

Met ever, and to shameful silence brought,
Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success,
And his vain importunity pursues.

PARADISE REGAINED, Book IV,

SHALT thou give law to God? shalt thou dispute With Him the points of liberty, who made

Thee what thou art, and form'd the powers of
Heaven

Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being?
Yet, by experience taught, we know how good,
And of our good and of our dignity

How provident he is, how far from thought
To make us less; bent rather to exalt

Our happy state, under one head more near
United.

Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, Or all angelic nature joined in one,

Equal to him, begotten Son? by whom,

As by his Word, the mighty Father made

All things, even thee, and all the Spirits of Heaven
By him created in their bright degrees,

Crown'd them with glory, and to their glory named
Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers
Essential Powers.

Abdiel, PARADISE LOST, Book V.