his worst

To put it out by discords most unkind,
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand

With God and man; nor ever will be forced
From that most sweet accord, but still agree,
Equal in fortunes in equality.

And this note, madam, of your worthiness
Remains recorded in so many hearts,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess:
You that have built you by your great deserts
(Out of small means) a far more exquisite
And glorious dwelling for your honored

name

Than all the gold that leaden minds can frame.

SAMUEL DANIEL.

MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

My minde to me a kingdom is;

Such perfect joy therein I finde As farre exceeds all earthly blisse

That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave.

Content. I live; this is my stay

I seek no more than may suffice. I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Loe, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toile, and keepe with feare; Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe nor welthie store, No force to win the victorie,

No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eyeTo none of these I yeeld as thrall; For why, my mind despiseth all.

669

I little have, yet seek no more. They are but poore, though much they have And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse; I brooke that is another's bane. I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seeke for more;

I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate; I breake no sleepe to winne my will;

I wayte not at the mightie's gate.
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich;
I feele no want, nor have too much.

The court ne cart I like ne loath

Extreames are counted worst of ali, The golden meane betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; This is my choyce; for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chiefe defence;
I never seeke by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence.
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I!

WILLIAM BY

THE WINTER BEING OVER.

THE winter being over,
In order comes the spring,

Which doth green herbs discover,
And cause the birds to sing.
The night also expired,

Then comes the morning bright,
Which is so much desired
By all that love the light.
This may learn

Them that mourn,
To put their grief to flight :
The spring succeedeth winter,
And day must follow night.

He therefore that sustaineth
Affliction or distress
Which every member paineth,
And findeth no release-
Let such therefore despair not,
But on firm hope depend,
Whose griefs immortal are not,
And therefore must have end.
They that faint

With complaint

Therefore are to blame;
They add to their afflictions,
And amplify the same.

For if they could with patience
Awhile possess the mind,
By inward consolations
They might refreshing find,
To sweeten all their crosses
That little time they 'dure;
So might they gain by losses,
And sharp would sweet procure.
But if the mind
Be inclined

To unquietness,

That only may be called The worst of all distress.

He that is melancholy, Detesting all delight, His wits by sottish folly Are ruinated quite.

TRIUMPHING chariots, statues, crowns of bays, Sky-threatening arches, the rewards of worth; Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious lays,

Which men divine unto the world set forth; States which ambitious minds, in blood, do raise

From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange;
Gigantic frames held wonders rarely strange,
Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days.
Nothing is constant but in constant change,
What 's done still is undone, and when undone
Into some other fashion doth it range;
Thus goes the floating world beneath the
moon;

Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place,

Rise up, and steps unknown to nature trace.

A GOOD that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April showers,
A sweet with floods of gall that runs com-
bined,

A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A honor that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown that lowers,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,

A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,

A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness in effect a dream,
A swelling thought of holding sea and land,
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name:
Are the strange ends we toil for here below
Till wisest death makes us our errors know.
WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

Now all these careful sights
So kill me in conceit,

That how to hope upon delights
Is but a mere deceit.

And, therefore, my sweet muse, Thou know'st what help is best; Do now thy heavenly cunning use To set my heart at rest.

And in a dream bewray

What fate shall be my friendWhether my life shall still decay, Or when my sorrow end.

671

NICHOLAS BRETE

A SWEET PASTORAL.

GOOD muse, rock me asleep With some sweet harmony! The weary eye is not to keep Thy wary company.

Sweet love, begone awhile! Thou know'st my heaviness; Beauty is born but to beguile My heart of happiness.

See how my little flock,
That loved to feed on high,

Do headlong tumble down the rock,
And in the valley die.

The bushes and the trees,

That were so fresh and green,

Do all their dainty color lease, And not a leaf is seen.

Sweet Philomel, the bird
That hath the heavenly throat,
Doth now, alas! not once afford
Recording of a note.

The flowers have had a frost; Each herb hath lost her savor;

And Phillida, the fair, hath lost The comfort of her favor.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

WHO gave thee, O beauty,
The keys of this breast,
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Say, when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old?

Or what was the service
For which I was sold?
When first my eyes saw thee
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of thirst;
Thou intimate stranger,
Thou latest and first!

Thy dangerous glances
Make women of men;
New-born, we are melting
Into nature again.

Lavish, lavish promiser,
Nigh persuading gods to err!
Guest of million painted forms,
Which in turn thy glory warms!
The frailest leaf, the mossy bark,
The acorn's cup, the rain drop's aro
The swinging spider's silver line,
The ruby of the drop of wine,
The shining pebble of the pond
Thou inscribest with a bond,

In thy momentary play,

Would bankrupt nature to repay.

Ah, what avails it

To hide or to shun

Whom the Infinite One

Hath granted His throne!

The heaven high over

Is the deep's lover;
The sun and sea,

Informed by thee,

Before me run,

And draw me on,
Yet fly me still,

As fate refuses

To me the heart fate for me chooses.

Is it that my opulent soul

Was mingled from the generous whole;
Sea-valleys and the deep of skies
Furnished several supplies;
And the sands whereof I'm made
Draw me to them, self-betrayed?
I turn the proud portfolios
Which hold the grand designs
Of Salvator, of Guercino,
And Piranesi's lines.

I hear the lofty pæans
Of the masters of the shell,
Who heard the starry music
And recount the numbers well;
Olympian bards who sung
Divine ideas below,
Which always find us young,
And always keep us so.
Oft, in streets or humblest places,
I detect far-wandered graces,
Which, from Eden wide astray,
In lowly homes have lost their way.

Thee gliding through the sea of form,
Like the lightning through the storm,
Somewhat not to be possessed,
Somewhat not to be caressed,
No feet so fleet could ever find,
No perfect form could ever bind.
Thou eternal fugitive,
Hovering over all that live,
Quick and skilful to inspire
Sweet, extravagant desire,
Starry space and lily-bell

Filling with thy roseate smell,

Wilt not give the lips to taste

Of the nectar which thou hast.

All that's good and great with thee
Works in close conspiracy;

Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely

To report thy features only,

And the cold and purple morning,

Itself with thoughts of thee adorning;

The leafy dell, the city mart,

Equal trophies of thine art;

E'en the flowing azure air

Thou hast touched for my despair:

And, if I languish into dreams,
Again I meet the ardent beams.
Queen of things! I dare not die
In being's deeps past ear and eye:
Lest there I find the same deceiver,
And be the sport of fate forever.
Dread power, but dear! if God thou be,
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me

KALPH WALDO EMERSON

SONG.

RARELY, rarely comest thou,
Spirit of delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now

Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false thou hast forgot All but those who heed thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; Even the signs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art near, And reproach thou wilt not hear.

Let me set my mournful ditty

To a merry measure: Thou wilt never come for pity

Thou wilt come for pleasure.

mountain shower,

It visits with inconstant glance Each numan heart and countenance, Like hues and harmonies of evening,

Like clouds in starlight widely spread,
Like memory of music fled,

Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.

in his heart.

Thou messenger of sympathies

That wax and wane in lover's eyes! Thou that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came! Depart not, lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality.