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The Spring 's still with thee; but perhaps the field,
Not warmed with thy approach, wants force to yield
Her tribute to the plough. O rather let
Th'ungrateful Earth forever be in debt
To th’ hope of sweating Industry, than we
Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.
Nor fear the public good; thy eyes can give
A life to all, who can deserve to live.
TO THE SPHING.
ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF CASTARA's ABODE.
Fair mistress of the Earth, with garlands crowned,
Rise, by a lover's charm, from the parched ground,
And show thy flowery wealth, that she, where'er
Her stars shall guide her, meet thy beauties there.
Should she to the cold northern climates go,
Force thy affrighted lilies there to grow,
The roses in those gelid fields to appear;
She absent, I have all their winter here.
Or if to th’ torrid zone her way she bend,
Her the cool breathing of Favonius lend.
Thither command the birds to bring their choirs;
That zone is temperate, I have all his fires.
Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here
Lose by it all the treasures of the year.
UPON THE DISGUISING HIS AFFECTION.
Pronounce me guilty of a blacker crime,
Than e'er, in the large volume writ by Time,
The sad historian reads, if not my art
Dissembles love, to veil an amorous heart.
For when the zealous anger of my friend
Checks my unusual sadness, I pretend
To study virtue, which indeed I do;
He must court virtue, who aspires to you.
Or that some friend is dead, and then a tear,
A sigh, or groan steals from me ; for I fear
Lest death with love hath struck my heart, and all
These sorrows usher but its funeral:
Which should revive, should there you a mourner be,
And force a nuptial in an obsequy.
THE HOUSE IN WEHICH CASTARA. LIVED,
Blest temple, hail! where the chaste altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
Of Virtue polished. Though sad fate deny
My profane feet access, my vows shall fly.
May those musicians, which divide the air
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare
For this glad place, and all their accents frame,
To teach the echoes my Castara's name.
The beauteous troops of Graces, led by Love
In chaste attempts, possess the neighboring grove,
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree
Turn to a laurel, and prophetic be,
Which shall in its first Oracle divine
That courteous Fate decrees Castara mine.
T)EPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.
What should we fear, Castara & The cool air,
That’s fallen in love, and wantons in thy hair,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steal
A nectared kiss, the wind dares not reveal
The pleasure I possess. The wind conspires
To our blest interview, and in our fires
Bathes like a salamander, and doth sip,
Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip.
Nor think of night’s approach. The world’s great eye,
Though breaking Nature’s law, will us supply
With his still-flaming lamp, and to obey
Our chaste desires, fix here perpetual day.
But should he set, what rebel night dares rise,
To be subdued i' th' victory of the eyes?
TJPON THOUGHT OF A GE AND DEATH.
The breath of Time shall blast the flowery spring,
Which so perfumes thy cheek, and with it bring
So dark a mist, as shall eclipse the light
Of thy fair eyes in an eternal night.
Some melancholy chamber of the earth,
(For that like Time devours whom it gave birth,)
Thy beauties shall entomb, while all whoe'er
Loved nobly, offer up their sorrows there.
But I, whose grief no formal limits bound,
Beholding the dark cavern of that ground,
Will there immure myself. And thus I shall
Thy mourner be, and my own funeral.
Else by the weeping magic of my verse,
Thou had'st revived to triumph o'er thy hearse.
TO THE SUN.
Thou art returned (great light) to that blest hour
In which I first by marriage, sacred power,
Joined with Castara hearts; and as the same
Thy lustre is, as then, so is our flame :
Which had increased, but that by Love's decree,
'Twas such at first, it ne'er could greater be.
But tell me, (glorious lamp) in thy survey
Of things below thee, what did not decay
By age to weakness? I since that have seen
The rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow green
And wither, and the beauty of the field
With winter wrinkled. Even thyself dost yield
Something to time, and to thy grave fall nigher ;
But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire.
Why should we fear to melt away in death
May we but die together When beneath
In a cool vault we sleep, the world will prove
Religious, and call it the shrine of love.
There, when o' th' wedding eve some beauteous maid,
Suspicious of the faith of man, hath paid
The tribute of her vows, o' th' sudden she
Two violets sprouting from the tomb will see,
And cry out: “Ye sweet emblems of their zeal
Who live below, sprang ye up to reveal
The story of our future joys, how we
The faithful patterns of their love shall be 2
If not, hang down your heads, oppressed with dew,
And I will weep, and wither hence with you.”
IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA.
Ye, blushing virgins, happy are
In the chaste nunnery of her breasts,
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
Whoe'er should call them Cupid’s nests.
Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,
How rich a perfume do ye yield !
In some close garden, cowslips so
Are sweeter than i' th' open field.
In those white cloisters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath ;
Each hour more innocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.
Then that which living gave you room,
Your glorious sepulchre shall be :
There wants no marble for a tomb,
Whose breast hath marble been to me.
UPON CASTARA's DEPARTURE.
Vows are vain. No suppliant breath
Stays the speed of swift-heeled Death.
Life with her is gone, and I
Learn but a new way to die.
See the flowers condole, and all
Wither in my funeral.
The bright lily, as if day
Parted with her, fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose
All their beauty. That the rose
A sad part in sorrow bears,
Witness all those dewy tears
Which as pearl, or diamond like,
Swell upon her blushing cheek.
All things mourn; but O, behold
How the withered marigold
Closeth up, now she is gone,
Judging her the setting sun.