PHINEAS FLETCHER.

THE INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS.'

FOND man, that looks on earth for happiness,

And here long seeks what here is never found! For all our good we hold from heav'n by lease, With many forfeits and conditions bound;

Nor can we pay the fine, and rentage due:
Though now but writ, and seal'd, and giv'n

anew,

Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew.

Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good,
At ev'ry loss 'gainst heav'n's face repining?
Do but behold where glorious cities stood,
With gilded tops and silver turrets shining;
There now the hart fearless of greyhound
feeds,

And loving pelican in safety breeds:

There screeching satyrs fill the people's empty stedes.'

'This and the next extract are from "The Purple Island."

Steads, i. e. places.

Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide,
That all the east once grasp'd in lordly paw?
Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride
The lion's self tore out with rav'nous jaw?
Or he which 'twixt a lion and a pard,

Through all the world with nimble pinions far'd, And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shar'd.

Hardly the place of such antiquity,

Or note of these great monarchies we find: Only a fading verbal memory,

And empty name in writ is left behind:

But when this second life and glory fades,

And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, A second fall succeeds, and double death invades.

That monstrous beast, which nurs'd in Tiber's fen,
Did all the world with hideous shape affray;

That filled with costly spoil his gaping den,
And trod down all the rest to dust and clay;
His batt'ring horns, pull'd out by civil hands,
And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands;
Back'd, bridled by a monk, with sev'n heads yoked
stands.

And that black vulture,' which with dreadful wing O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight Frighten'd the muses from their native spring, Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: Who then shall look for happiness beneath? Where each new day proclaims, chance, change, and death.

And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe.

The Turk.

THE MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND HIS CHURCH.'

2

THE fair Eclecta, who with widow'd brow,

Her absent Lord long mourn'd in sad array, Now silken linen3 cloth'd like frozen snow,

Whose silver spanglets sparkle 'gainst the day: This shining robe her Lord himself had wrought,

While he her love with hundred presents sought,

And it with many a wound, and many a torment bought!

And thus array'd, her heav'nly beauties shin'd (Drawing their beams from his most glorious face)

Like to a precious jasper, pure refin'd,

Which with a crystal mix'd, much mends his grace:

The golden stars a garland fair did frame

To crown her locks; the sun lay hid for shame,

And yielded all his beams to her more glorious flame.

Ah! who that flame can tell? Ah! who can see? Enough is me with silence to admire;

While bolder joy, and humble majesty

In either cheek had kindled graceful fire:

The contest between the good and evil qualities and affections having been concluded by the interposition of the Son of God, the poem ends with the stanzas which follow.

The church.

3 Rev. xix. 8.

4 Ibid. xxi. 11.

Long silent stood she, while her former fears And griefs run all away in sliding tears; That like a wat❜ry sun her gladsome face appears.

At length when joys had left her closer heart,
To seat themselves upon her thankful tongue;
First in her eyes they sudden flashes dart,

Then forth i' the music of her voice they throng;

"My hope, my love, my joy, my life, my bliss, (Whom to enjoy is heav'n, but hell to miss,) What are the world's false joys, what heav'n's true joys to this?

Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? Do these thrice blessed arms again infold thee? Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: For deep thy stamp is printed in my heart, And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part."

Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly plain her,
Upon his neck a welcome load depending;
While he with equal joy did entertain her,
Herself, her champions, highly all commending:
So all in triumph to his palace went;

Whose work in narrow words may not be pent; For boundless thought is less than is that glori

ous tent.

There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure;

No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: No wasteful spending can impair their treasure;

Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving : The soul still big with joy, yet still conceiving;

Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving.

There are they gone; there will they ever bide;
Swimming in waves of joy, and heav'nly loving :
He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride;
Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant
moving :

No change, no grief, no age can them befal : Their bridal bed is in that heav'nly hall, Where all days are but one, and only one is all.

And as in state they thus in triumph ride,

The boys and damsels their just praises chant; The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride.

While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: Heav'n's winged hosts, greeting this glorious spring,

Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing.

Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting

Flames out in pow'r, shines out in majesty; There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting; Displays the marks of highest Deity:

There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, And every heart, and every soul commands: No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly pow'r withstands.