Through the pure streams may be seen Orient pearl fit for a queen, Will I give, thy love to win, And a shell to keep them in : Not a fish in all my brook That shall disobey thy look, But, when thou wilt, come sliding by, And from thy white hand take a fly: How I can my waves command, They shall bubble whilst I sing, Sweeter than the silver string. THE SONG. Do not fear to put thy feet Naked in the river sweet; Think not leech, or newt, or toad, Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod; Nor let the water rising high, As thou wadest in, make thee cry And not a wave shall trouble thee! X. SONG ON MAY MORNING. MILTON. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May! that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. XI. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. MILTON. O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: Whether the muse, or love, call thee his mate, * Alluding to a popular augury, that the lover shall be fortunate in his pursuit in the spring in which he happens to hear the nightingale before the cuckoo. XII. ON THE EXPECTED ASSAULT. MILTON. CAPTAIN or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. That call fame on such gentle acts as these; And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower; The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power To save th' Athenian walls from ruin bare. XIII. ACME AND SEPTIMUS, FROM CATULLUS. COWLEY. WHILST on Septimus' panting breast (Meaning nothing less than rest) Acme lean'd her loving head, Thus the pleas'd Septimus said: "My dearest Acme! if I be "Once alive, and love not thee "With a passion far above "All that e'er was called love, "In a Lybian desert may "I become some lion's prey; "Let him, Acme! let him tear "My breast, when Acme is not there." |