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Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers;
'Bove all, nothing within that lours ;
Can make Day's forehead bright
Or give down to the wings of Night.
'Tis She, and here
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My Wishes' cloudy character.
May She enjoy it
Whose merit dare[s] apply it
But Modesty dares still deny it!
Such Worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies! fly before ye!
Be you my fictions, but Her Story!
Love, brave Virtue's younger Brother,
Gave omen to his infant hours;
Ah! my heart, is that the way?
Are these the beams that rule thy day?
Thou know'st a face, in whose each look,
On whose fair revolutions wait
The obsequious motions of Love's fate;
Have taught thee new astrology.
Howe'er Love's native hours were set,
If those sharp rays, putting on
Points of death, bid Love be gone,
Cast amorous glances on his birth,
But if her milder influence move,
Though every diamond in Jove's crown
Her eye a strong appeal can give,
O if Love shall live, O, where
But in her eye, or in her ear,
Or if Love shall die, O, where,
While Love shall thus entombed lie,
Love shall live, although he die.
Upon the Death of a Gentleman.
Faithless and fond Mortality!
Who will ever credit thee?
Fond and faithless thing! that thus,
In our best hopes beguilest us.
Of the hopes in him we laid?
For life by volumes lengthenéd,
A line or two to speak him dead.
For the laurel in his verse
The sullen cypress o'er his hearse.
Now though the blow that snatch him hence
Stopp'd the mouth of Eloquence,
Though she be dumb e'er since his death,
Not used to speak but in his breath,
The sad language of our eyes,
We are contented: for than this
Eyes are vocal, tears have tongues,
And there be words not made with lungs;
Their cadence is rhetorical.
Here's a theme will drink th' expense re
Of all thy watery eloquence;
Weep then, only be exprest
Thus much: He's dead; and