Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 47

HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires: As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires.

Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

Thomas Carew. 1595?-1639?

293. Ingrateful Beauty threatened

KNOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown.

Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties lived unknown, Had not my verse extoll'd thy name, And with it imp'd the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine; I gave it to thy voice and eyes; Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; Thou art my star, s.h.i.+n'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate; Let fools thy mystic form adore, I know thee in thy mortal state.

Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.

imp'd] grafted with new feathers.

Thomas Carew. 1595?-1639?

294. Epitaph On the Lady Mary Villiers

THE Lady Mary Villiers lies Under this stone; with weeping eyes The parents that first gave her birth, And their sad friends, laid her in earth.

If any of them, Reader, were Known unto thee, shed a tear; Or if thyself possess a gem As dear to thee, as this to them, Though a stranger to this place, Bewail in theirs thine own hard case: For thou perhaps at thy return May'st find thy Darling in an urn.

Thomas Carew. 1595?-1639?

295. Another

THIS little vault, this narrow room, Of Love and Beauty is the tomb; The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear Our clouded sky, lies darken'd here, For ever set to us: by Death Sent to enflame the World Beneath.

'Twas but a bud, yet did contain More sweetness than shall spring again; A budding Star, that might have grown Into a Sun when it had blown.

This hopeful Beauty did create New life in Love's declining state; But now his empire ends, and we From fire and wounding darts are free; His brand, his bow, let no man fear: The flames, the arrows, all lie here.

Jasper Mayne. 1604-1672

296. Time

TIME is the feather'd thing, And, whilst I praise The sparklings of thy looks and call them rays, Takes wing, Leaving behind him as he flies An unperceived dimness in thine eyes.

His minutes, whilst they're told, Do make us old; And every sand of his fleet gla.s.s, Increasing age as it doth pa.s.s, Insensibly sows wrinkles there Where flowers and roses do appear.

Whilst we do speak, our fire Doth into ice expire, Flames turn to frost; And ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Or how a silver snow Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.

Since then the Night hath hurl'd Darkness, Love's shade, Over its enemy the Day, and made The world Just such a blind and shapeless thing As 'twas before light did from darkness spring, Let us employ its treasure And make shade pleasure: Let 's number out the hours by blisses, And count the minutes by our kisses; Let the heavens new motions feel And by our embraces wheel; And whilst we try the way By which Love doth convey Soul unto soul, And mingling so Makes them such raptures know As makes them entranced lie In mutual ecstasy, Let the harmonious spheres in music roll!

William Habington. 1605-1654

297. To Roses in the Bosom of Castara

YE blus.h.i.+ng virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-- 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.

William Habington. 1605-1654

298. Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam

WHEN I survey the bright Celestial sphere; So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:

My soul her wings doth spread And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look We shall discern In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror That far-stretch'd power, Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour:

That from the farthest North, Some nation may, Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway:

Some nation yet shut in With hills of ice May be let out to scourge his sin, Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall Their ruin have; For as yourselves your empires fall, And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life confute:--

For they have watch'd since first The World had birth: And found sin in itself accurst, And nothing permanent on Earth.

Thomas Randolph. 1605-1635

299. A Devout Lover

I HAVE a mistress, for perfections rare In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.

Like tapers on the altar s.h.i.+ne her eyes; Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice; And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin, Still her perfection lets religion in.

We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers: I touch her, like my beads, with devout care, And come unto my courts.h.i.+p as my prayer.