SAMUEL SHEPPARD. (?)

(Fl. 1650.)

EPITHALAMIUM.

From The Loves of Amandus and Sophronia, 1650.

[EAVENLY fair Urania's son,

HEAV

Thou that dwell'st on Helicon, Hymen, O thy brows impale, To the bride the bridegroom hale Take thy saffron robe and come With sweet-flowered marjoram; Yellow socks of woollen wear, With a smiling look appear; Shrill Epithalamiums sing, Let this day with pleasure spring; Nimbly dance; the flaming tree Take in that fair hand of thine. Let good auguries combine For the pair that now are wed; Let their joys be nourishèd Like a myrtle, ever green, Owned by the Cyprian queen, Who fosters it with rosy dew, Where her nymphs their sport pursue.

Leave th' Aonian cave behind

(Come, O come with willing mind!) And the Thespian rocks, whence drill Aganippe waters still.

Chastest virgins, you that are

Either for to make or mar,

Make the air with Hymen ring,

Hymen, Hymenæus sing!

GEORGE DIGBY, EARL OF BRISTOL. (?)

(1612-1676.)

SONG.

From the comedy of Elvira, 1667; in Hazlitt's Dodsley, vol. xv.

But what faster mine destroys.
What are all the senses' pleasures,
When the mind has lost all measures?

Hear, O hear!

How sweet and clear

The nightingale

And waters' fall

In concert join for others' ears,

Whilst to me,

For harmony,
Every air

Echoes despair,

And every drop provokes a tear.

What are all the senses' pleasures,
When the mind has lost all measures?

EDMUND WALLER.

(1605-1687.)

Three editions of Waller's Poems, in which the first three selections given below were published, appeared in 1645. The contents do not vary. The last extract was written by Waller when he was over eighty years of age. Waller's Poems are reprinted in Chalmers' Poets, vol. viii., also in the Muses' Library, 1892, edited by Mr. G. Thorn Drury.

ON A GIRDLE.

THAT which her slender waist confined,
Shall now my joyful temples bind;

No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass, and yet there
Dwelt all that's good and all that's fair;
Give me but what this ribband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

SONG.

Go, lovely Rose,

Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows

When I resemble her to thee

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That had'st thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died,

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share
Who are so wondrous sweet and fair.

TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT.

EES not my love, how Time resumes

SEES

The glory which he lent these flowers? Though none should taste of their perfumes Yet must they live but some few hours: Time, what we forbear, devours!

Had Helen, or the Egyptian queen,
Been ne'er so thrifty of their graces,
Those beauties must at length have been
The spoil of age, which finds out faces
In the most retired places.

Should some malignant planet bring

A barren drought, or ceaseless shower,
Upon the autumn, or the spring,
And spare us neither fruit nor flower;
Winter would not stay an hour.

Could the resolve of Love's neglect
Preserve you from the violation
Of coming years, then more respect
Were due to so divine a fashion;
Nor would I indulge my passion.

THE

THE LAST PROSPECT.

HE seas are quiet when the winds give o'er;
So, calm are we when passions are no more!
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light, through chinks that time has made;
Stronger by weakness, wiser, men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home:

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

(1618-1667.)

ON SOLITUDE.

Accompanying the prose Essay on Solitude, in the Essays in Verse and Prose, 1668. Cowley's Works, edited by Dr. Grosart, occupy two volumes of the Chertsey Worthies Library. His poems are included in vol. vii. of Chalmers' Poets.

HAIL, old patrician trees, so great and good!
Hail, ye plebeian underwood!

Where the poetic birds rejoice,

And for their quiet nests and plenteous food,
Pay with their grateful voice.

Hail, the poor muse's richest manor seat!
Ye country houses and retreat
Which all the happy gods so love,

That for you oft they quit their bright and great
Metropolis above.