DIVINATION BY A DAFFODIL.

WHEN a daffodil I see

WHEN

Hanging down his head towards me,

Guess I may what I must be:

First, I shall decline my head;

Secondly, I shall be dead;
Lastly, safely burièd.

TO THE VIRGINS.

ATHER ye rosebuds while ye may:

GATH

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,

To blush and gently smile;

And go at last.

What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight;
And so to bid good-night?
"T was pity Nature brought ye forth,
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

TO DAFFODILS.

FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;

As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attained his noon.
Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song;

And, having prayed together, we

Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing.
We die

As your hours do, and dry

Away,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as to the pearls of morning's dew,

Ne'er to be found again.

TO MEADOWS.

YE have been fresh and green,

Ye have been filled with flowers;

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come,

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round;
Each virgin, like a spring,
With honeysuckles crowned.
(M 349)

T

But now, we see none here,
Whose silvery feet did tread,
And with dishevelled hair
Adorned this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock, and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates alone.

ANACREONTIC.

BORN was I to be old,

And for to die here;

After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
But before that day comes,
Still I be bousing;
For I know in the tombs

There's no carousing.

UPON A CHILD THAT DIED.

HERE she lies, a pretty bud,

Lately made of flesh and blood;

Who, as soon fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings; but not stir
The earth, that lightly covers her.

UPON A CHILD.

HERE a pretty baby lies

Sung asleep with lullabies;

Pray be silent, and not stir

The easy earth that covers her.

GRACE FOR A CHILD.

HERE, a little child, I stand,
Heaving up my either hand:

Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall

On our meat, and on our all. Amen.

THE LITANY.

N the hour of my distress,

IN

When temptations me oppress,

And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,

Sick in heart, and sick in head,

And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep
And the world is drowned in sleep,

Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill
Has or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!