Some nation yet shut in With hills of ice, May be let out to scourge his sin, And then they likewise shall For as yourselves your empires fal Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life confute. For they have watched since first And found sin in itself accursed, And nothing permanent on earth. COGITABO PRO PECCATO MEO. IN what dark silent grove Profaned by no unholy love, Where witty melancholy ne'er Did carve the trees or wound the air, Shall I religious leisure win, To weep away my sin? How fondly have I spent My youth's unvalued treasure, lent To traffic for celestial joys; My unripe years, pursuing toys, Judging things best that were most gay, Fled unobserved away. Grown elder I admired Our poets as from Heaven inspired; For Spenser's art, and Sidney's wit? Then I my blood obeyed, And each bright face an idol made: But grown more politic I took account of each state trick: And the more serious fool. But now my soul prepare To ponder what and where we are, How a shrill trumpet shall Us to the bar as traitors call. Then shall we see too late that pride Hath hope with flattery belied, Pale cowards there must stand. ROBERT HERRICK. (1591-1674.) Practically all of Herrick's poetry appeared first in Hesperides, 1648, and was probably written 1620-1648. There are numerous modern editions of Herrick, who, like Campion and so many others of the early lyrists, has only come into favour during the present century. The best are Dr. Grosart's (3 vols., London, 1877), Mr. A. W. Pollard's (2 vols. 1891, in the Muses' Library), and Mr. Saintsbury's (2 vols. 1893, in the Aldine Poets). Selections nearly complete have been edited by Prof. E. E. Hale, junr. (Athenæum Press Series, Boston, 1895), by Prof. Palgrave (Golden Treasury Series, 1877), by Prof. Henry Morley (the Universal Library, 1883), and by Mr. H. P. Horne (Canterbury Poets, 1887). I THE ARGUMENT OF THE HESPERIDES. SING of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, I sing of maypoles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES. I HAVE lost, and lately, these Many dainty mistresses: Stately Julia, prime of all; Sappho next, a principal; Smooth Anthea, for a skin Only Herrick's left alone, Their departures hence, and die. TO LIVE MERRILY, AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES. NOW is the time for mirth Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For the flowery earth, The golden pomp is come. The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear, Made of her pap and gum, Rich beads of amber here. Now reigns the Rose, and now My uncontrolled brow, And my retorted1 hairs. Homer, this health to thee, In sack of such a kind, Though thou wert ne'er so blind. Next, Virgil I'll call forth, To pledge this second health 1 thrown back. A goblet next I'll drink To Ovid; and suppose Made he the pledge, he'd think The world had all one nose. Then this immensive cup Of aromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up To that terse muse of thine. Wild I am now with heat, O Bacchus! cool thy rays; Or frantic I shall eat Thy thyrse, and bite the bays. Round, round, the roof does run; And being ravished thus, Come, I will drink a tun To my Propertius. Now, to Tibullus next, This flood I drink to thee; But stay, I see a text, That this presents to me. Behold! Tibullus lies Here burnt, whose small return Of ashes scarce suffice To fill a little urn. Trust to good verses then: And when all bodies meet In Lethe to be drowned; Then only numbers sweet, With endless life are crowned. |