For thee I talk to trees; with silent groves
Expostulate my woes and much wrong'd loves;
Hills and relentless rocks, or if there be

Things that in hardness more allude to thee,
To these I talk in tears, and tell my pain,
And answer too for them in tears again.
How oft have I wept out the weary sun!
My wat❜ry hour-glass hath old Time outrun.
O I am learned grown : poor Love and I
Have studied over all Astrology;

I'm perfect in Heaven's state, with every star
My skilful grief is grown familiar.

Rise, fairest of those fires; whate'er thou be
Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me,
Such as the sacred light that erst did bring
The Eastern princes to their infant King.
O rise, pure lamp, and lend thy golden ray,
That weary Love at last may find his way.

THE THIRD ELEGY.

Rich, churlish Land, that hid'st so long in thee
My treasures; rich, alas, by robbing me.
Needs must my miseries owe that man a spite,
Whoe'er he be, was the first wand'ring knight.

O had he ne'er been at that cruel cost
Nature's virginity had ne'er been lost;
Seas had not been rebuked by saucy oars,
But lain lock'd up safe in their sacred shores;

Men had not spurn'd at mountains; nor made wars

With rocks, nor bold hands struck the World's strong bars,

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

Condition of Life.

(OUT OF BARCLAY.)

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.

-:0:

An Epitaph Upon a Young Married Couple,

DEAD AND BURIED TOGETHER.

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.