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head in ointment swims!
On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood,
There we sate, and there we wept :
While unhappy captived we,
They, they that snatch'd us from our country's breast
Would have a song carved to their ears
Come, they cried, come sing and play
One of Sion's songs to-day.
If not, Jerusalem, to thee?
Of Music's dainty touch, than I
The music of thy memory.
Lose this same busy-speaking art,
On my dry palate's roof to rest
A withered leaf, an idle guest.
The head of all thy hope-nursed joys.
Her falling thou didst urge and thrust,
And haste to dash her into dust :
Till thy ruin teach thee tears,
Of woes too late do rouse thy fears :
Laugh till thy children's bleeding bones
On a Treatise * of Charity.
Rise, then, immortal maid ! Religion, rise!
Shelford's Discourses” (Cambridge : 1635), in which volume the adopted text of the present poem appears.
Most edd. lack the last 10 lines of the present text.-ED.
The holy youth of Heaven, whose golden rings
Be it enacted then
This shall from henceforth be the masculine theme
On Mr. George Herbert's Book, entitled
“ The Temple of Sacred poems,"
SENT TO A GENTLEWOMAN.
Know you, fair, on what you look ?