Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay!"
-Thus sung they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note:

And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

THE GARDEN

How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their uncessant labours see
Crown'd from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the flowers and trees do close
To weave the garlands of repose.

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence thy sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men:
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow:
Society is all but rude

To this delicious solitude.

No white nor red was ever seen
So am'rous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name;
Little, alas, they know or heed

How far these beauties hers exceed!

Fair trees! wheres'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.

When we have run our passions' heat
Love hither makes his best retreat:

The gods, who mortal beauty chase,
Still in a tree did end their race;
Apollo hunted Daphne so

Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.

What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine and curious peach
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;

The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made

To a green thought in a green shade.

Here at the fountain's sliding foot
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside

My soul into the boughs does glide;
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.

Such was that happy Garden-state

While man there walk'd without a mate: After a place so pure and sweet,

What other help could yet be meet!

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share

To wander solitary there:
Two paradises 'twere in one
To live in Paradise alone.

How well the skilful gardner drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new!
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers!

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY [1639?-1701]

TO CELIA

NOT, Celia, that I juster am

Or better than the rest;

For I would change each hour, like them,

Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee
By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored
In thy dear self I find-

For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,
And still make love anew?

When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true,

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER

[1647-1680.]

CONSTANCY

I CANNOT change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn,

Since that poor swain that sighs for you,

For you alone was born;

No, Phillis, no, your heart to move

A surer way I'll try,

And to revenge my slighted love,

Will still love on, and die.

When killed with grief Amintas lies,
And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall,

That welcome hour that ends his smart,
Will then begin your pain,

For such a faithful tender heart

Can never break in vain.

ON CHARLES II

HERE lies our Sovereign Lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on,

Who never said a foolish thing,

Nor ever did a wise one.

JOHN DRYDEN [1631-1700]

A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began:

When Nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay

And could not heave her head,

The tuneful voice was heard from high,
"Arise, ye more than dead!"

Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,

And Music's power obey.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began:

From harmony to harmony

Thro' all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell!
When Jubal struck the chorded shell
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound.

Less than a god they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell

That spoke so sweetly and so well.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell!

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.

The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum

Cries: "Hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!"