Cowley continued.]

Th' adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barb'rous skill;
'Tis like the poisoning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.

The Waiting Maid.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,

But an eternal now does always last.1

The monster London

Davideis.

Vol. i. Book I.

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.

Of Solitude.

God the first garden made, and the first city

Th' assembled souls of all that men held wise. Gondibert. Book ii. Canto v. St. 37.

1 One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now. - Southey, The Doctor, p. 63.

2 Cf. Cowper, p. 360.

EDMUND WALLER.

1605-1687.

The soul's dark cottage, battéred and decayed,'
Lets in new light thro' chinks that time has made.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.

Verses upon his Divine Poesy.

Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.
Upon the Death of the Lord Protector.

A narrow compass! and yet there

Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair :
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

On a Girdle.

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Go, lovely rose.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Espied a feather of his own,

Wherewith he wont to soar so high.2

To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing.

The yielding marble of her snowy breast.

On a Lady passing through a Crowd of People.

1 Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through the chinks of her sickness-broken body. Fuller, The Holy and the Profane State, Book i. Ch. ii. 2 Cf. Byron, p. 467.

Marquis of Montrose.

Waller continued.]

Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a muse.

For all we know

169

Panegyric on Cromwell.

Of what the blessed do above

Is, that they sing and that they love.

While I listen to thy voice.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known what they discreetly blot.
Upon Roscommon's Trans. of Horace, De Arte Poetica.

Could we forbear dispute, and practise love,
We should agree as angels do above.

Divine Love.

Canto iii.

MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 1612-1650.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

That dares not put it to the touch

To gain or lose it all.

My Dear and only Love.1

I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.

Ibid.

1 From Napier's Mem. of Montrose, Vol. i. App. xxxiv. That puts it not unto the touch,

To win or lose it all.

From Napier's Montrose and the Covenanters, Vol. ii.

p. 566.

JOHN MILTON. 1608-1674.

PARADISE LOST.

Of Man's first disobedience and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world and all our woe.

Book i. Line I.

Or if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed.

Fast by the oracle of God.

Book i. Line 10.

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

Booki. Line 16.

What in me is dark

Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

As far as Angel's ken.

Book i. Line 22.

Book i.

Line 59.

Yet from those flames

No light, but rather darkness visible.

Book i. Line 62.

Where peace

And rest can never dwell, hope never comes,

That comes to all.

Book i. Line 65.

What though the field be lost?

All is not lost; th' unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.

Book i. Line 105.

To be weak is miserable,

Paradise Lost continued.]

Doing or suffering.

Book i. Line 157.

And out of good still to find means of evil.

Book i. Line 165.

Farewell happy fields,

Where joy for ever dwells: hail, horrors; hail.

Book i. Line 249.

A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
Book i. Line 253.

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.

Book i. Line 261

Heard so oft

In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge
Of battle.
Book i. Line 275.

His spear, to equal which the tallest pine,
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand,
He walk'd with to support uneasy steps
Over the burning marle.

Book i. Line 292.

Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades

High over-arch'd imbower.

Book i. Line 302.

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!

Book i.

Line 330.