Bring me but one; I'll promise thee,
Instead of common show'rs,

Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
And all beset with flow'rs.

LXXXVI.

UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SPARROW.
AN ELEGY.

WHY do not all fresh maids appear
To work love's sampler only here,

Where spring-time smiles throughout the year?
Are not here rose-buds, pinks, all flow'rs
Nature begets by th' sun and show'rs,
Met in one herse-cloth, to o'erspread
The body of the under-dead?

Phil, the late dead, the late dead dear!
O, may no eye distil a tear,

For you once lost, who weep not here!
Had Lesbia, too, too kind, but known
This sparrow, she had scorn'd her own;
And for this dead, which under lies,
Wept out her heart, as well as eyes.
But endless peace sit here, and keep
My Phil, the time he has to sleep;
And thousand virgins come and weep,
To make these flow'ry carpets show
Fresh as their blood, and ever grow,
Till passengers shall spend their doom;
Not Virgil's gnat had such a tomb!

POEM LXXXVI.] Catullus's celebrated little elegy on the death of Lesbia's sparrow, and Virgil's gnat, are poems too well known to every classic reader to need a comment here.

LXXXVII.

TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.

WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn
Teem'd her refreshing dew?

Alas! you have not known that show'r
That mars a flow'r;

Nor felt th' unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;

Nor are ye worn with years;
Or warp'd, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flow'rs, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings; and make known The reason why

Ye droop, and weep.

Is it for want of sleep;
Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?.

Or brought a kiss

From that sweetheart to this?

No, no; this sorrow, shown

By your tears shed,

Would have this lecture read,

"That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, "Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought "forth."

LXXXVIII...

TO THE WILLOW TREE.

THOU art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found;
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorn;

Then willow garlands 'bout the head,
Bedew'd with tears, are worn.

When with neglect, the lover's bane,
Poor maids rewarded be

For their love lost; their only gain
Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,

When weary of the light,

The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid

Come to weep out the night.

LXXXIX.

MRS. ELIZABETH WHEELER,

UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS.

AMONG the myrtles as I walk'd,

Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:

POEM LXXXIX.] This elegant morceau is likewise found, under the title of the Inquiry, in Carew's poems, which were twice printed, the last edition in 1642, anterior to Herrick's book. There was besides a modern reprint of them, by T. Davies, in 1772. See the advertisement. Notwithstanding this, I am inclined to think, with Dr. Drake, that the poem was written by Herrick; its variations from the copy of Carew, he observes, bear indubitable marks of

Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where I may find my shepherdess.

Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this,
In ev'ry thing that's sweet she is?

In yon carnation go and seek,

There thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that enamell'd pansy by,

There thou shalt have her curious eye;

In bloom of peach, and rose's bud, There waves the streamer of her blood. "Tis true, said I; and thereupon

I went to pluck them one by one,

its being the original. Besides, it is improbable that Herrick, who superintended, and arranged his own productions, and who must have been familiar with the volume of his ingenious rival, would have republished this piece as his own, if he had not possessed a prior claim to it. But I will give the poem as it stands in Carew, that the reader may judge for himself

AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd,

Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
Tell me, said I, in deep distress,
Where may I find my shepherdess?

Thou fool, said Love, know'st thou not this,

In ev'ry thing that's good she is?

In yonder tulip go and seek,

There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek;

In yon enamell'd pansy by,

There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,

There wave the streamers of her blood;
In brightest lilies that there stand,
The emblems of her whiter hand;
In yonder rising hill there smell
Such sweets as in her bosom dwell.
"Tis true, said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
'To make of parts a union;
But on a sudden all was gone:

With that I stopt; said Love, these be,

Fond man, resemblances of thee;

And, as these flow'rs, thy joys shall die,
E'en in the twinkling of an eye:
And all thy hopes of her shall wither,

Like these short sweets thus knit together.

To make of parts an union ;
But on a sudden all were gone :

At which I stopp'd. Said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;

For, as these flow'rs, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye;

And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.

XC.

THE POET'S GOOD WISHES

FOR THE MOST HOPEFUL AND HANDSOME PRINCE, THE DUKE OF YORK.*

MAY his pretty Dukeship grow

Like to a rose of Jericho ;

Sweeter far than ever yet

Show'rs, or sunshines could beget!
May the Graces, and the Hours
Strew his hopes, and him with flow'rs;
And so dress him up with love,
As to be the chick of Jove!
May the thrice-three Sisters sing
Him, the sov❜reign of their spring;
And entitle none to be

Prince of Helicon, but he!

May his soft foot, where it treads,

Gardens thence produce, and meads;
And those meadows full be set

With the rose, and violet!

*Afterwards king James the second of England. These lines were evidently written during our poet's first residence at Dean Prior.

G