Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads As the mild heav'n on roses sheds, When at their cheeks--like pearls--they wear The clouds that court them in a tear!

And may they be fed from above By Him which first ordain'd your love!

Fresh as the hours may all your pleasures be, And healthful as eternity!

Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close As th' unseen spreadings of the rose, When he unfolds his curtain'd head, And makes his bosom the sun's bed!

Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear As your own gla.s.s, or what shines there!

Smooth as heav'n's face, and bright as he When without mask or tiffany!

In all your time not one jar meet But peace as silent as his feet!

Like the day's warmth may all your comforts be, Untoil'd for, and serene as he, Yet free and full as is that sheaf Of sunbeams gilding ev'ry leaf, When now the tyrant-heat expires And his cool'd locks breathe milder fires!

And as those parcell'd glories he doth shed Are the fair issues of his head, Which, ne'er so distant, are soon known By th' heat and l.u.s.tre for his own; So may each branch of yours we see Your copies and our wonders be!

And when no more on earth you must remain, Invited hence to heav'n again, Then may your virtuous, virgin-flames Shine in those heirs of your fair names, And teach the world that mystery, Yourselves in your posterity!

So you to both worlds shall rich presents bring, And, gather'd up to heav'n, leave here a spring.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF MR. R. HALL, SLAIN AT PONTEFRACT, 1648.

I knew it would be thus! and my just fears Of thy great spirit are improv'd to tears.

Yet flow these not from any base distrust Of a fair name, or that thy honour must Confin'd to those cold relics sadly sit In the same cell an obscure anchorite.

Such low distempers murder; they that must Abuse thee so, weep not, but wound thy dust.

But I past such dim mourners can descry Thy fame above all clouds of obloquy, And like the sun with his victorious rays Charge through that darkness to the last of days.

'Tis true, fair manhood hath a female eye, And tears are beauteous in a victory, Nor are we so high-proof, but grief will find Through all our guards a way to wound the mind; But in thy fall what adds the brackish sum More than a blot unto thy martyrdom?

Which scorns such wretched suffrages, and stands More by thy single worth than our whole bands.

Yet could the puling tribute rescue ought In this sad loss, or wert thou to be brought Back here by tears, I would in any wise Pay down the sum, or quite consume my eyes.

Thou fell'st our double ruin; and this rent Forc'd in thy life shak'd both the Church and tent.

Learning in others steals them from the van, And basely wise emasculates the man, But lodg'd in thy brave soul the bookish feat Serv'd only as the light unto thy heat.

Thus when some quitted action, to their shame, And only got a discreet coward's name, Thou with thy blood mad'st purchase of renown, And died'st the glory of the sword and gown.

Thy blood hath hallow'd Pomfret, and this blow --Profan'd before--hath church'd the Castle now.

Nor is't a common valour we deplore, But such as with fifteen a hundred bore, And lightning-like--not coop'd within a wall-- In storms of fire and steel fell on them all.

Thou wert no woolsack soldier, nor of those Whose courage lies in winking at their foes, That live at loopholes, and consume their breath On match or pipes, and sometimes peep at death; No, it were sin to number these with thee, But that--thus pois'd--our loss we better see.

The fair and open valour was thy shield, And thy known station, the defying field.

Yet these in thee I would not virtues call, But that this age must know that thou hadst all.

Those richer graces that adorn'd thy mind Like stars of the first magnitude, so shin'd, That if oppos'd unto these lesser lights All we can say is this, they were fair nights.

Thy piety and learning did unite, And though with sev'ral beams made up one light, And such thy judgment was, that I dare swear Whole councils might as soon and synods err.

But all these now are out! and as some star Hurl'd in diurnal motions from far, And seen to droop at night, is vainly said To fall and find an occidental bed, Though in that other world what we judge West Proves elevation, and a new, fresh East; So though our weaker sense denies us sight, And bodies cannot trace the spirit's flight, We know those graces to be still in thee, But wing'd above us to eternity.

Since then--thus flown--thou art so much refin'd That we can only reach thee with the mind, I will not in this dark and narrow gla.s.s Let thy scant shadow for perfections pa.s.s, But leave thee to be read more high, more quaint, In thy own blood a soldier and a saint.

----_Salve aeternum mihi maxime Palla!_ _aeternumque vale!_----

TO MY LEARNED FRIEND, MR. T. POWELL, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI'S CHRISTIAN POLITICIAN.

We thank you, worthy Sir, that now we see MALVEZZI languag'd like our infancy, And can without suspicion entertain This foreign statesman to our breast or brain; You have enlarg'd his praise, and from your store By this edition made his worth the more.

Thus by your learned hand--amidst the coil-- Outlandish plants thrive in our thankless soil, And wise men after death, by a strange fate, Lie leiger here, and beg to serve our State.

Italy now, though mistress of the bays, Waits on this wreath, proud of a foreign praise; For, wise Malvezzi, thou didst lie before Confin'd within the language of one sh.o.r.e, And like those stars which near the poles do steer Were't but in one part of the globe seen clear.

Provence and Naples were the best and most Thou couldst shine in; fix'd to that single coast, Perhaps some cardinal, to be thought wise, And honest too, would ask, what was thy price?

Then thou must pack to Rome, where thou mightst lie Ere thou shouldst have new clothes eternally, For though so near the sev'n hills, ne'ertheless Thou cam'st to Antwerp for thy Roman dress.

But now thou art come hither, thou mayst run Through any clime as well known as the sun, And in thy sev'ral dresses, like the year, Challenge acquaintance with each peopled sphere.

Come then, rare politicians of the time, Brains of some standing, elders in our clime, See here the method. A wise, solid State Is quick in acting, friendly in debate, Joint in advice, in resolutions just, Mild in success, true to the common trust.

It cements ruptures, and by gentle hand Allays the heat and burnings of a land; Religion guides it, and in all the tract Designs so twist, that Heav'n confirms the act.

If from these lists you wander as you steer, Look back, and catechize your actions here.

These are the marks to which true statesmen tend, And greatness here with goodness hath one end.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER T. LEWES.

Sees not my friend, what a deep snow Candies our country's woody brow?

The yielding branch his load scarce bears, Oppress'd with snow and frozen tears; While the dumb rivers slowly float, All bound up in an icy coat.

Let us meet then! and while this world In wild eccentrics now is hurl'd, Keep we, like nature, the same key, And walk in our forefathers' way.

Why any more cast we an eye On what may come, not what is nigh?

Why vex ourselves with fear, or hope And cares beyond our horoscope?

Who into future times would peer, Looks oft beyond his term set here, And cannot go into those grounds But through a churchyard, which them bounds.

Sorrows and sighs and searches spend And draw our bottom to an end, But discreet joys lengthen the lease, Without which life were a disease; And who this age a mourner goes, Doth with his tears but feed his foes

TO THE MOST EXCELLENTLY ACCOMPLISHED MRS. K. PHILIPS.

Say, witty fair one, from what sphere Flow these rich numbers you shed here?

For sure such incantations come From thence, which strike your readers dumb.

A strain, whose measures gently meet Like virgin-lovers or Time's feet; Where language smiles, and accents rise As quick and pleasing as your eyes; The poem smooth, and in each line Soft as yourself, yet masculine; Where not coa.r.s.e trifles blot the page With matter borrow'd from the age, But thoughts as innocent and high As angels have, or saints that die.

These raptures when I first did see New miracles in poetry, And by a hand their good would miss His bays and fountains but to kiss, My weaker genius--cross to fashion-- Slept in a silent admiration: A rescue, by whose grave disguise Pretenders oft have pa.s.s'd for wise.

And yet as pilgrims humbly touch Those shrines to which they bow so much, And clouds in courtship flock, and run To be the mask unto the sun, So I concluded it was true I might at distance worship you, A Persian votary, and say It was your light show'd me the way.

So loadstones guide the duller steel, And high perfections are the wheel Which moves the less, for gifts divine Are strung upon a vital line, Which, touch'd by you, excites in all Affections epidemical.

And this made me--a truth most fit-- Add my weak echo to your wit; Which pardon, Lady, for a.s.says Obscure as these might blast your bays; As common hands soil flow'rs, and make That dew they wear weep the mistake.

But I'll wash off the stain, and vow No laurel grows but for your brow.

AN EPITAPH UPON THE LADY ELIZABETH, SECOND DAUGHTER TO HIS LATE MAJESTY.

Youth, beauty, virtue, innocence, Heav'n's royal and select expense, With virgin-tears and sighs divine Sit here the genii of this shrine; Where now--thy fair soul wing'd away-- They guard the casket where she lay.

Thou hadst, ere thou the light couldst see, Sorrows laid up and stor'd for thee; Thou suck'dst in woes, and the b.r.e.a.s.t.s lent Their milk to thee but to lament; Thy portion here was grief, thy years Distill'd no other rain but tears, Tears without noise, but--understood-- As loud and shrill as any blood.