" 132, 'heavens.'

" 182 spells 'sillabell.'

" 187, 'The soules tastes thee takes from thence.'

" 202, 'bare.'

" 204, 'ware.'

" 209, 'For Thee: And serv'd therein thy glorious ends.'

See our Essay for critical remarks on the measure and rhythm of this poem as printed in our text (1652). G.

PSALME XXIII.[34]

Happy me! O happy sheepe! 1 Whom my G.o.d vouchsafes to keepe; Even my G.o.d, even He it is, That points me to these paths of blisse; On Whose pastures cheerefull Spring, 5 All the yeare doth sit and sing, And rejoycing, smiles to see Their green backs weare His liverie: Pleasure sings my soul to rest, Plentie weares me at her brest, 10 Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton, nor in want to be.

At my feet, the blubb'ring mountaine Weeping, melts into a fountaine; Whose soft, silver-sweating streames 15 Make high-noon forget his beames: When my wayward breath is flying, He calls home my soul from dying; Strokes and tames my rabid griefe, And does wooe me into life: 20 When my simple weaknes strayes, (Tangled in forbidden wayes) He (my Shepheard) is my guide, Hee's before me, on my side, And behind me, He beguiles 25 Craft in all her knottie wiles: He expounds the weary wonder Of my giddy steps, and under Spreads a path, cleare as the day, Where no churlish rub says nay 30 To my joy-conducted feet, Whilst they gladly goe to meet Grace and Peace, to learne new laies, Tun'd to my great Shepheard's praise.

Come now all ye terrors sally, 35 Muster forth into the valley, Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing, that covers Brooding horror. Come, thou Death, Let the damps of thy dull breath 40 Over-shadow even that shade, And make Darknes' selfe afraid; There my feet, even there, shall find Way for a resolved mind.

Still my Shepheard, still my G.o.d, 45 Thou art with me; still Thy rod, And Thy staffe, whose influence Gives direction, gives defence.

At the whisper of Thy word Crown'd abundance spreads my boord: 50 While I feast, my foes doe feed Their ranck malice not their need, So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed.

How my head in ointment swims! 55 How my cup o'relooks her brims!

So, even so still may I move, By the line of Thy deare love; Still may Thy sweet mercy spread A shady arme above my head, 60 About my paths; so shall I find, The faire center of my mind, Thy temple, and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame, that falls Fresh from the pure glance of Thine eye, 65 Lighting to Eternity.

There I'le dwell for ever; there Will I find a purer aire To feed my life with, there I'le sup Balme and nectar in my cup; 70 And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the armes of Death.

NOTES AND ILl.u.s.tRATIONS.

In the SANCROFT MS. this is headed 'Ps. 23 (Paraphrasia).' In line 4 it reads 'paths' for 'wayes,' which I accept; line 27 'weary' for 'giddy,'

and line 28 'giddy' for 'weary,' both adopted; line 29 reads as we have printed instead of 'Spreads a path as cleare as day;' line 33, 'learne'

for 'meet,' adopted; line 41, 'that' for 'the,' adopted. Only orthographic further variations. In line 30 'rub' = obstruction, reminds of SHAKESPEARE'S 'Now every _rub_ is smoothed in our way' (Henry V. ii.

2), and elsewhere. G.

PSALM Cx.x.xVII.[35]

On the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood, 1 There we sate, and there we wept: Our harpes, that now no musick understood, Nodding, on the willowes slept: While unhappy captiv'd wee, 5 Lovely Sion, thought on thee.

They, they that s.n.a.t.c.ht us from our countrie's breast, Would have a song carv'd to their eares In Hebrew numbers, then (O cruell jest!) When harpes and hearts were drown'd in teares: 10 Come, they cry'd, come sing and play One of Sion's songs to-day.

Sing? play? to whom (ah!) shall we sing or play, If not, Jerusalem, to thee?

Ah! thee Jerusalem! ah! sooner may 15 This hand forget the masterie Of Musick's dainty touch, than I The musick of thy memory.

Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue Lose this same busie-speaking art, 20 Vnpearch't, her vocall arteries unstrung, No more acquainted with my heart, On my dry pallat's roof to rest A wither'd leaf, an idle guest.

No, no, Thy good Sion, alone, must crowne 25 The head of all my hope-nurst joyes.

But Edom, cruell thou! thou cryd'st downe, downe Sinke Sion, downe and never rise, Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust, And haste to dash her into dust: 30 Dost laugh? proud Babel's daughter! do, laugh on, Till thy ruine teach thee teares, Even such as these; laugh, till a venging throng Of woes, too late, doe rouze thy feares: Laugh, till thy children's bleeding bones 35 Weepe pretious teares upon the stones.

IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OVR LORD G.o.d:

A HYMN SVNG AS BY THE SHEPHEARDS.[36]

THE HYMN.

_Chorvs._

Come, we shepheards, whose blest sight 1 Hath mett Loue's noon in Nature's night; Come, lift we vp our loftyer song And wake the svn that lyes too long.

To all our world of well-stoln joy 5 He slept; and dreamt of no such thing.

While we found out Heaun's fairer ey And kis't the cradle of our King.

Tell him He rises now, too late To show vs ought worth looking at. 10

Tell him we now can show him more Then he e're show'd to mortall sight; Then he himselfe e're saw before, Which to be seen needes not his light.

Tell him, t.i.tyrus, where th' hast been, 15 Tell him Thyrsis, what th' hast seen.

t.i.tYRUS.

Gloomy night embrac't the place Where the n.o.ble Infant lay.

The Babe look't vp and shew'd His face; In spite of darknes, it was day. 20 It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise Not from the East, but from Thine eyes.

_Chorus._ It was Thy day, Sweet.

THYRSIS.

Winter chidde aloud, and sent The angry North to wage his warres. 25 The North forgott his feirce intent, And left perfumes in stead of scarres.

By those sweet eyes' persuasiue powrs Where he mean't frost, he scatter'd flowrs.

_Chorus._ By those sweet eyes. 30

BOTH.

We saw Thee in Thy baulmy-nest, Young dawn of our aeternall Day!

We saw Thine eyes break from their East And chase the trembling shades away.

We saw Thee; and we blest the sight, 35 We saw Thee by Thine Own sweet light.

t.i.tYRUS.

Poor world (said I), what wilt thou doe To entertain this starry Stranger?