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Due to reasonable creatures,
Call her Cockatrice and Siren, Liken'st us to fell chimeras,
Basilisk, and all that's evil, Monsters that, who see us, fear us;
Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil, Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,
Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor, Or, who first lov'd a cloud, Ixion.
Monkey, Ape, and twenty more ;
Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe, Bacchus we know, and we allow
Not that she is truly so, His tipsy rites. But what art thou,
But no other way they know That but by reflex can'st shew
A contentment to express, What his deity can do,
Borders so upon excess, As the false Egyptian spell
That they do not rightly wot
Whether it be pain or not.
Or, as men, constrain'd to part
With what's nearest to their heart, Can'st nor life nor heat impart.
While their sorrow's at the height,
Lose discrimination quite, Brother of Bacchus, later born,
And their hasty wrath let fall, The old world was sure forlorn,
To appease their frantic gall, Wanting thee, that aidest more
On the darling thing whatever, The god's victories than before
Whence they feel it death to sever, All his panthers, and the brawls
Though it be, as they, perforce,
Guiltless of the sad divorce.
For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee. And, for ivy round his dart,
For thy sake, Tobacco, I The reformed god now weaves
Would do any thing but die, A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.
And but seek to extend my days
Long enough to sing thy praise. Scent to match thy rich perfume
But, as she, who once hath been Chemic art did ne'er presume
A king's consort, is a queen Through her quaint alembic strain,
Ever after, nor will bate None so sov'reign to the brain.
Any tittle of her state, Nature, that did in thee excel,
Though a widow, or divorced, Fram'd again no second smell.
So I, from thy converse forced, Roses, violets, but toys
The old name and style retain, For the smaller sort of boys,
A right Katherine of Spain; Or for greener damsels meant;
And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys Thou art the only manly scent.
Of the blest Tobacco Boys;
Where though I, by sour physician,
Am debarr'd the full fruition
Of thy favours, I may catch
Some collateral sweets, and snatch
Sidelong odours, that give life
Like glances from a neighbour's wife;
And still live in the by-places
And the suburbs of thy graces;
And in thy borders take delight,
An unconquer'd Canaanite.
TO T. L. H.
Model of thy parent dear, At a need, when, in despair
Serious infant worth a fear: To paint forth their fairest fair,
In thy unfaultering visage well Or in part but to express
Picturing forth the son of Tell, That exceeding comeliness
When on his forehead, firm and good, Which their fancies doth so strike,
Motionless mark, the apple stood; They borrow language of dislike;
Guileless traitor, rebel mild, And, instead of Dearest Miss,
Convict unconscious, culprit-child! Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
Gates that close with iron roar And those forms of old admiring,
Have been to thee thy nursery door;
ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE
PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN.
Chains that chink in cheerless cells
This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear, Have been thy rattles and thy bells;
It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp'd Walls contrived for giant sin
Who art thou, fair
'st the place Sights of fear, and of distress,
Of Blanch, the lady of the matchless grace? That pass a harmless infant's guess!
Come fair and pretty, tell to me,
Who, in thy life-time, thou might'st be. But the clouds, that overcast
Thou pretty art and fair, Thy young morning, may not last.
But with the lady Blanch thou never must compare. Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour,
No need for Blanch her history to tell; That yields thee up to Nature's power.
Whoever saw her face, they there did read it well. Nature, that so late doth greet thee,
But when I look on thee, I only know Shall in o'er-flowing measure meet thee.
There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago. She shall recompense with cost For every lesson thou hast lost. Then wandering up thy sire's lov'd hill,
LINES Thou shalt take thy airy fill
ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing
VINCI, CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS. For thy delight each May morning. 'Mid new-yean’d lambkins thou shalt play,
While young John runs to greet Hardly less a lamb than they.
The greater infant's feet, Then thy prison's lengthened bound
The mother standing by, with trembling passion Shall be the horizon skirting round.
Of devout admiration,
[ration; And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers,
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoTo make amends for wintery hours,
Nor knows as yet the full event The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,
Of those so low beginnings, Shall from thy tender brow efface
From whence we date our winnings, Each vestige of untimely care,
But wonders at the intent (worship meant. That sour restraint had graven there;
Of those new rites, and what that strange childAnd on thy every look impress
But at her side A more excelling childishness.
An angel doth abide,
With such a perfect joy So shall be thy days beguil'd,
As no dim doubts alloy,
Of blind humanity,
As if he surely knew
All the blest wonders should ensue,
Or he had lately left the upper sphere, [dles there. The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lovers' fears,
And had read all the sovran schemes and divine ridTo the Urs’line convent hastens, and long the abbess hears.
SONNETS. “O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life Blanch looked on a rose-bud and little seem'd to heed.
[thought She looked on the rose-bud, she looked round, and You are not, Kelly, of the common strain, On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun That stoop their pride and female honor down bad taught.
(my fame, To please that many-headed beast the town, “ I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for gain; All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's By fortune thrown amid the actors' train,
[the tree, You keep your native dignity of thought; Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from The plaudits that attend you come unsought, My queen-like graces shining when my beauty's As tributes due unto your natural vein. gone
[head, Your tears have passion in them, and a grace But when the sculptur’d marble is raised o'er my Of genuine freshness, which our hearts avow; And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace, noble dead,
That vanish and return we know not how
LIONARDO DA VINCI.
TO MISS KELLY.
And please the better from a pensive face,
A timid grace sits trembling in her eye, A thoughtful eye, and a reflecting brow.
As loth to meet the rudeness of men's sight,
Yet shedding a delicious lunar light, ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KENSINGTON GARDEN. That steeps in kind oblivious ecstasy Queen-bird that sittest on thy shining nest,
The care-crazed mind, like some still melody: And thy young cygnets without sorrow hatchest,
Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possess And thou, thou other royal bird, that watchest Her gentle sprite: peace, and meek quietnes, Lest the white mother wandering feet molest:
And innocent loves, and maiden purity: Shrined are your offspring in a chrystal cradle,
A look whereof might heal the cruel smart Brighter than Helen's ere she yet had burst Of changed friends, or fortune's wrongs unkind; Her shelly prison. They shall be born at first Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart Strong, active, graceful, perfect, swan-like, able
Of him who hates his brethren of mankind. To tread the land or waters with security.
Turned are those lights from me, who fondly yet Unlike poor human births, conceived in sin,
Past joys, vain loves, and buried hopes regret. In grief brought forth, both outwardly and in Confessing weakness, error, and impurity.
If from my lips some angry accents fell, Did heavenly creatures own succession's line,
Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind, The births of heaven like to your's would shine.
'Twas but the error of a sickly mind
And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well, Was it some sweet device of faery
And waters clear, of reason; and for me That mocked my steps with many a lonely glade, Let this my verse the poor atonement beAnd fancied wanderings with a fair-hair'd maid? My verse, which thou to praise wert ever inclined Have these things been? or what rare witchery, Too highly, and with a partial eye to see Impregning with delights the charmed air,
No blemish. Thou to me didst ever shew
Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend
What reason first imposed thee, gentle name,
Name that my father bore, and his sire's sire, Methinks how dainty sweet it were, reclin'd Without reproach? we trace our stream no higher; Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high
And I, a childless man, may end the same. Of some old wood, in careless sort to lie,
Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains, Nor of the busier scenes we left behind
In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks, Aught envying. And, O Anna! mild-eyed maid ! Received thee first amid the merry mocks Beloved! I were well content to play
And arch allusions of his fellow swains. With thy free tresses all a summer's day,
Perchance from Salem's holier fields returned, Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade. With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd Or we might sit and tell some tender tale
Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn,
Took his meek title, in whose zeal he burn'd. A tale of true love, or of friend forgot ;
Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came, And I would teach thee, lady, how to rail
No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name. In gentle sort, on those who practise not Or love or pity, though of woman born.
TO JOHN LAMB, ESQ. OF THE SOUTH-SEA-HOUSI When last I roved these winding wood-walks green, John, you were figuring in the gay career Green winding walks, and shady pathways sweet,
Of blooming manhood with a young man's joy, Oft times would Anna seek the silent scene,
When I was yet a little peevish boyShrouding her beauties in the lone retreat.
Though time has made the difference disappear No more I hear her footsteps in the shade:
Betwixt our ages, which then seemed so greatHer image only in these pleasant ways
And still by rightful custom you retain
Much of the old authoritative strain,
0! you do well in this. 'Tis man's worst deed The cottage which did once my all contain; To let the “ things that have been" run to waste, It spake of days which ne'er must come again, And in the unmeaning present sink the p:est: Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. In whose dim glass even now I faintly read “ Now fair befall thee, gentle maid!” said I,
Old buried forms, and faces long ago,
THE FAMILY NAME.
0! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind, She served her heavenly master. I have seen
So meekly had she learn'd to bear her crossO winged bark! how swift along the night
For she had studied patience in the school Pass'd thy proud keel! nor shall I let go by
Of Christ, much comfort she had thence derived, Lightly of that drear hour the memory,
And was a follower of the Nazarene.
COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT.
From broken visions of perturbed rest
How total a privation of all sounds,
Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise Time was, we two had wept to have been apart. Of revel reeling home from midnight cups. But when by show of seeming good beguild, Those are the moanings of the dying man, I left the garb and manners of a child,
Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans, And my first love for man's society,
And interrupted only by a cough Defiling with the world my virgin heart
Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs. My loved companion dropped a tear, and fled, So in the bitterness of death he lies, And hid in deepest shades her awful head. And waits in anguish for the morning's light. Beloved, who shall tell me where thou art- What can that do for him, or what restore? In what delicious Eden to be found
Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices,
And little images of pleasures past,
Nor the other grace of life, a good name, sold
For sin's black wages. On his tedious bed
He writhes, and turns him from the accusing light, Hard by the house of prayer, a modest roof,
And finds no comfort in the sun, but says And not distinguish'd from its neighbour-barn,
“ When night comes I shall get a little rest." (end. Save by a slender-tapering length of spire,
Some few groans more, death comes, and there an The Grandame sleeps. A plain stone barely tells
'Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond; The name and date to the chance passenger.
Weak nature fears, though charity must hope, For lowly born was she, and long bad eat
And fancy, most licentious on such themes Well-earned the bread of service :-her's was else
Where decent reverence well had kept her mute, A mounting spirit, one that entertained
Hath o'er-stock'd hell with devils, and brought Scorn of base action, deed dishonorable,
By her enormous fablings and mad lies, [down, Or aught unseemly. I remember well
Discredit on the gospel's serious truths Her reverend image: I remember, too,
And salutary fears. The man of parts, With what a zeal she served her master's house; Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch And how the prattling tongue of garrulous age
Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates Delighted to recount the oft-told tale
A heaven of gold, where he, and such as he, Or anecdote domestic. Wise she was,
Their heads encompassed with crowns, their heels And wondrous skilled in genealogies,
With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars And could in apt and voluble terms discourse
Beneath their feet, heaven's pavement, far removed Of births, of titles, and alliances;
From damned spirits, and the torturing cries Of marriages, and intermarriages;
Of men, his breth'ren, fashioned of the earth, Relationship remote, or near of kin;
As he was, nourish'd with the self-same bread, Of friends offended, family disgraced
Belike his kindred or companions onceMaiden high-born, but wayward, disobeying Through everlasting ages now divorced, Parental strict injunction, and regardless
In chains and savage torments to repent Of unmixed blood, and ancestry remote,
Short years of folly on earth. Their groans unheard Stooping to wed with one of low degree.
In heav'n, the saint nor pity feels, nor care, But these are not thy praises; and I wrong
For those thus sentenced-pity might disturb Thy honor'd memory, recording chiefly
The delicate sense and most divine repose Things light or trivial. Better 'twere to tell, Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God, How with a nobler zeal, and warmer love,
The measure of his judgments is not fixed
On the green
By man's erroneous standard. He discerns Sure grief hath set his sacred impress here,
To claim the world's respect! they note so feelingly Betwixt the sinner and the saint, to doom
By outward types the serious man within.-
In all the decencies of virtuous sorrow,
Which other mourners use ? as namely, Their little crowns of virtue cast, and yield
This black attire, abstraction from society, To him of his own works the praise, his due. Good thoughts, and frequent sighs, and seldom
A cleaying sadness native to the brow,
(That steal away the sense of loss almost)
Which enemies themselves do for us then, Margaret. In the name of the boy God, who plays Putting their hostile disposition off, at bood-man-blind with the Muses, and cares not As we put off our high thoughts and proud looks. whom he catches: what is it you love?
(Pauses, and observes the pictures.) Simon. Simply, all things that live,
These pictures must be taken down: From the crook'd worm to man's imperial form, The portraitures of our most antient family And God-resembling likeness. The poor tly, For nigh three hundred years! how have I listen'd, That makes short holyday in the sunbeam,
To hear Sir Walter, with an old man's pride, And dies by some child's hand. The feeble bird Holding me in his arms, a prating boy, With little wings, yet greatly venturous
And pointing to the pictures where they hung, In the upper sky. The fish in th' other element, Repeat by course their worthy histories, That knows no touch of eloquence. What else? (As Hugh de Widville, Walter, first of the name, Yon tall and elegant stag,
And Anne the handsome, Stephen, and famous Who paints a dancing shadow of his horns
John: In the water, where he drinks.
Telling me, I must be his famous John.) Margaret. I myself love all these things, yet so But that was in old times. as with a difference:-for example, some animals Now, no more better than others, some men rather than other men; Must I grow proud upon our house's pride. the nightingale before the cuckoo, the swift and I rather, I, by most unheard of crimes, graceful palfrey before the slow and asinine mule. Have backward tainted all their noble blood, Your humour goes to confound all qualities. Rased out the memory of an ancient family, What sports do you use in the forest :
And quite revers'd the honors of our house. Simon. Not many; some few, as thus:
Who now shall sit and tell us anecdotes? To see the sun to bed, and to arise,
The secret history of his own times, Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,
And fashions of the world when he was young: Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him, How England slept out three and twenty years, With all his fires and travelling glories round him. While Carr and Villiers rul'd the baby king: Sometimes the moon on soft night clouds to rest, The costly fancies of the pedant's reign, Like beauty nestling in a young man's breast, Balls, feastings, huntings, shows in allegory, And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep And beauties of the court of James the First. Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep.
Margaret enters. Sometimes outstretcht, in very idleness,
John. Comes Margaret here to witness my disNought doing, saying little, thinking less,
grace? To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
O, lady, I have suffer'd loss, Go eddying round; and small birds, how they fare, And diminution of my honor's brightness. When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn, You bring some images of old times, Margaret, Filch'd from the careless Amalthea's horn;
That should be now forgotten. And how the woods berries, and worms provide Margaret. Old times should never be forgotten, Without their pains, when earth has nought beside
John. To answer their small wants.
I came to talk about them with my friend. To view the graceful deer come tripping by,
John. I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride. Then stop, and gaze, then turn, they know not why, Margaret. If John rejected Margaret in his pride, Like bashful younkers in society.
(As who does not, being splenetic, refuse To mark the structure of a plant or tree,
Sometimes old play-fellows,) the spleen being gone, And all fair things of earth, how fair they be. The offence no longer lives.
O Woodvil, those were happy days,
When we two first began to love. When first, John. How beautiful, (handling his mourning.) Under pretence of visiting my father, And comely do these mourning garments shew! (Being then a stripling nigh upon my age)
THE MOURNER VISITED.