SHE's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed;
She is a woman, therefore to be won.
Thy words like music every breast controul,
Steal through the air, and win upon the soul.
He that would win his dame, must do
As love does when he draws his bow;
With one hand thrust the lady from
And with the other pull her home.
THOUGH winds do rage, as winds were wood,
And cause spring-tides to raise great flood;
And lofty ships leave anchor in mud,
Bereaving many of life and blood;
Yet, true it is, as cows chew cud,
And trees, at spring, do yield forth bud,
Except wind stands as never it stood,
It is an ill wind turns none to good.
Ye too, ye winds! that now begin to blow,
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you.
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings! say,
Where your aerial magazines reserv'd,
To swell the brooding terrors of the storm?
In what far distant region of the sky,
Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 't is calm?
Thomson.
The wind has a language, I would I could learn!
Sometimes 't is soothing, and sometimes 't is stern,
Sometimes it comes like a low sweet song,
And all things grow calm, as the sound floats along,
And the forest is lull'd by the dreamy strain,
And slumber sinks down on the wandering main,
And its crystal arms are folded in rest,
And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving breast.
O MADNESS, to think use of strongest wines
And strongest drinks our chief support of health,
When God, with these forbidden, made choice to rear
His mighty champion, strong above compare,
Whose drink was only from the limpid brook.
The joy which wine can give, like smoky fires,
Obscures their sight, whose fancy it inspires.
Aaron Hill.
Wine, wine, thy power and praise
Have ever been echoed in minstrel lays;
But water, I deem, hath a mightier claim
To fill up a niche in the temple of fame.
Ye, who are bred in Anacreon's school,
May sneer at my strain as the song of a fool;
Ye are wise, no doubt, but have yet to learn
How the tongue can cleave, and the veins can burn.
Oh! ye that love the wine-cup,
I warn ye loath its smell;
For wantonness and wickedness
Do in its odour dwell!
Seek the rosy wealth
Of joyous health,
In the pure and crystal well.
IGNORANCE is the curse of God,
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven.
As Venus' bird, the white, swift lovely dove,
Doth on her wings her utmost swiftness prove,
Fearing the gripe of falcon, hence not far.
God hath two wings, which he doth ever move,
The one is mercy, and the next is love;
Under the first the sinners ever trust,
And with the last he still directs the just.-Herrick.
LASTLY came winter, clothed all in frize,
Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill;
Whilst on his hoary beard his breath did freeze,
And the dull drops that from his purple bill
As from a limbeck did adown distil;
In his right hand a tipped staff he held,
With which his feeble steps he stayed still,
For he was faint with cold and weak with eld,
That scarce his loosed limbs he able was to weld.
Spenser.
The wrathful winter hast'ning on apace,
With blust'ring blasts had all ybar'd the treen, And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,
With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green; The mantles rent wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves, that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and ev'ry tree blown down.
Whilst we do speak, our fire
Doth into ice expire;
Flames turn to frost; and ere we can
Know how our cheek turns pale and wan,
Or how a silver snow
Springs there where jet did glow,
Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.
To day, in snow array'd, stern winter rules
The ravag'd plain-anon the teeming earth
Unlocks her stores, and spring adorns the year;
And shall not we-while fate like winter frowns,
Expect revolving bliss?
See, winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms.
O winter! ruler of the inverted year....
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art.
SHE'S God's own mirror; she's a light whose glance
Springs from the lightening of his countenance.
She's mildest heaven's most sacred influence;
Never decays her beauties' excellence,
Aye like herself; and she doth always trace
Not only the same path, but the same pace,
Without her honour, health, and wealth would prove
Three poisons to me.
Wisdom from above
Is the only moderatrix, spring, and guide,
Organ and honour of all gifts beside.
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.
As from the senses reason's work doth spring,
So many reasons understanding gain,
And many understandings knowledge bring,
And by much knowledge wisdom we obtain.
Extremes of fortune are true wisdom's test,
And he's of men most wise who bears them best.
Cumberland.
On folly's lips eternal tattlings dwell;
Wisdom speaks little, but that little well.
So lengthening shades the sun's decline betray,
And shorter shadows mark meridian day.
I envy not such graves as take up room,
Merely with jet and porphyry; since a tomb
Adds no desert; wisdom, thou thing divine,
Convert my humble soul into thy shrine.
And then this body, though it want a stone,
Shall dignify all places where 't is thrown.
All human wisdom to divine is folly;
This truth, the wisest man made melancholy.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, Wealth may seek us-but wisdom must be sought.
What is it to be wise?
'Tis but to know how little can be known, To see all others' faults, and feel our own.
Superior beings, when of late they saw
A mortal man unfold all nature's law,
Admir'd such wisdom in an earthly shape,
And show'd a Newton, as we show an ape.
Ah! when did wisdom covet length of days?
Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise?
No, wisdom views, with an indifferent eye,
All finite joys, all blessings born to die.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
Topmost in heaven;-she is its light-its God
And in the heart of man she sits as high-
Though grovelling minds forget her oftentimes,
Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind
Sees her for ever: and in youth we come
Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel,
Worshipping God through her sweet altar fires,
And then is knowledge "good!”
To borrow Folly's cap and bells,
Though Wisdom oft descends;
Yet Folly, to her cost, doth find
That Wisdom never lends.
That Wisdom oft hath play'd the fool,
Is seen in every age;
But here the bargain ends, for ne'er
Hath Folly play'd the sage.
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