Men had not spurn'd at mountains; nor made wars
With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong
Nor lost in too large bounds, our little Rome
Full sweetly with itself had dwelt at home.
My poor Alexis then, in peaceful life,
Had under some low roof loved his plain wife;
But now,
ah me! from where he has no foes
He flies, and into wilful exile goes.
Cruel, return, or tell the reason why
Thy dearest parents have deserved to die.
And I, what is my crime I cannot tell,
Unless it be a crime t' have loved too well.
If heats of holier love and high desire
Make big thy fair breast with immortal fire,
What needs my virgin lord fly thus from me,
Who only wish his virgin wife to be?
Witness, chaste Heavens! no happier vows I know
Than to a virgin grave untouch'd to go.
Love's truest knot by Venus is not tied ;
Nor do embraces only make a bride.
The queen of angels (and men chaste as you)
Was maiden-wife, and maiden-mother too.
Cecilia, glory of her name and blood,
With happy gain her maiden vows made good.
The lusty bridegroom made approach-Young man,
Take heed' (said she) 'take heed, Valerian!
My bosom's guard, a spirit great and strong,
Stands arm'd to shield me from all wanton wrong.
My chastity is sacred; and my Sleep
Wakeful, her dear vows undefiled to keep.
Pallas bears arms, forsooth; and should there be
No fortress built for true Virginity?
No gaping Gorgon this: none like the rest
Of your learn'd lies. Here you'll find no such jest.
I'm yours: O were my God, my Christ so too,
I'd know no name of Love on Earth but you.'
He yields, and straight baptized, obtains the grace
To gaze on the fair soldier's glorious face.
Both mix'd at last their blood in one rich bed
Of rosy martyrdom, twice married.
O burn our Hymen bright in such high flame,
Thy torch, terrestrial Love, has here no name.
How sweet the mutual yoke of man and wife,
When holy fires maintain Love's heavenly life!
But I (so help me Heaven my hopes to see),
When thousands sought my love, loved none but thee.
Still, as their vain tears my firm vows did try,
'Alexis, he alone is mine' (said I).
Half true, alas! half false, proves that poor line,
Alexis is alone; but is not mine.
Description of a Religious house and
No roofs of gold o'er riotous tables shining,
Whole days and suns devour'd with endless dining.
No sails of Tyrian silk, proud pavements sweeping,
Nor ivory couches costlier slumber keeping;
False lights of flaring gems; tumultuous joys;
Halls full of flattering men and frisking boys;
Whate'er false shows of short and slippery good
Mix the mad sons of men in mutual blood.
But walks and unshorn woods; and souls, just so
Unforced and genuine ; but not shady though.
Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare,
That chaste and cheap, as the few clothes we wear;
Those, coarse and negligent, as the natural locks
Of these loose groves; rough as th' unpolish'd rocks.
A hasty portion of prescribed sleep;
Obedient slumbers, that can wake and weep,
And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again ;
Still rolling a round sphere of still-returning pain.
Hands full of hearty labours; pains that pay
And prize themselves; do much, that more they may,
And work for work, not wages; let to-morrow's
New drops, wash off the sweat of this day's sorrows.
A long and daily-dying life, which breathes
A respiration of reviving deaths.
But neither are there those ignoble stings
That nip the blossom of the World's best things,
And lash Earth-labouring souls. . . .
No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep
Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep :
But reverent discipline, and religious fear,
And soft obedience, find sweet biding here;
Silence, and sacred rest; peace, and pure joys;
Kind loves keep house, lie close, make no noise;
And room enough for monarchs, while none swells
Beyond the kingdoms of contentful cells.
The self-rememb'ring soul sweetly recovers
Her kindred with the stars; not basely hovers
Below but meditates her immortal way
Home to the original source of Light and intellectual day.
To these, whom Death again did wed,
This grave's their second marriage-bed ;
For though the hand of Fate could force
'Twixt soul and body, a divorce,
It could not sunder man and wife,
'Cause they both lived but one life.
Peace, good Reader, do not weep.
Peace, the lovers are asleep!
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that Love could tie.
And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead:
(Pillow hard, and sheets not warm)
Love made the bed; they'll take no harm ;
Let them sleep: let them sleep on,
Till this stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn
And they wake into a light,
Whose Day shall never sleep in Night.
Death's Lecture and the Funeral of a Young
DEAR relics of a dislodged soul, whose lack
Makes many a mourning paper put on black!
O stay a while, ere thou draw in thy head,
And wind thyself up close in thy cold bed.
Stay but a little while, until I call
A summons worthy of thy funeral.
Come then, Youth, Beauty, and Blood, all ye soft powers,
Whose silken flatteries swell a few fond hours
Into a false eternity. Come man;
Hyperbolised nothing! know thy span !
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