Love built a stately house, where Fortune came;

And spinning fancies, she was heard to say
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame,
Whereas they were supported by the same;
But Wisdom quickly swept them all away.

Then Pleasure came, who, liking not the fashion,
Began to make balconies, terraces,

Till she had weaken'd all by alteration;

But rev'rend laws, and many a proclamation,
Reformed all at length with menaces.

The fineriess which a

If when the set Uut

Then enter'd Sin, and with that sycamore

Whose leaves first shelt'red man from drought and dew,

Working and winding slily evermore,

The inward walls and sommers cleft and tore;
But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew.

Then Sin combin'd with Death in a firm band
To rase the building to the very floor:
Which they effected, none could them withstand;
But Love took Grace and Glory by the hand,
And built a braver palace than before.

CRASHAW.

WISHES. TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS.

Whoe'er she be,

That not impossible she

That shall command my heart and me;

Where'er she lie,

Lock'd up from mortall eye,

In shady leaves of Destiny;

Till that ripe birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

And teach her fair steps tread our Earth;

Till that divine

Idea, take a shrine

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine;

Meet you her, my wishes,

Bespeak her to my blisses,

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.

I wish her, beauty

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire or glistring shoe tie.

A face that's best

By its own beauty drest,

And can alone commend the rest.

A cheek where Youth,

And blood, with pen of Truth

Write, what their reader sweetly ru'th.

*

Lips, where all day

A lover's kiss may play,

Yet carry nothing thence away.

*

Eyes, that displace

The neighbour diamond, and out-face That sunshine, by their own sweet grace.

Tresses, that wear

Jewels, but to declare

How much themselves more precious are.

Life, that dares send

A challenge to his end,

And when it comes say, Welcome friend!

I wish her store

Of worth may leave her poor

Of wishes; and I wish-no more.

Now if Time knows

That her, whose radiant brows

Weave them a garland of my vows;

Her that dares be,

What these lines wish to see:

I seek no further: it is she.

THE FLAMING HEART.

[Upon the book and picture of the Seraphica! Saint Theresa, as she is usually expressed with a Seraphim beside her.]

O thou undaunted daughter of desires!
By all thy dower of lights and fires;
By all the eagle in thee, all the dove;

By all thy lives and deaths of love;

By thy large draughts of intellectual day,

And by thy thirsts of love more large than they ;
By all thy brim-fill'd bowls of fierce desire,

By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire ;

By the full kingdom of that final kiss

That seiz'd thy parting soul, and seal'd thee His;
By all the Heav'n thou hast in Him
(Fair sister of the seraphim!)
By all of Him we have in thee;
Leave nothing of myself in me.
Let me so read thy life, that I
Unto all life of mine may die.

"O'tis not Spanish but his Heaven she speaks.

DESCRIPTION OF A RELIGIOUS HOUSE.

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
Unforc'd 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't rocks.
A hasty portion of prescribèd 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 hasty 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, and make no noise;
And room enough for monarchs, while none swells
Beyond the kingdoms of contentful cells.

The self-remembring 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.