The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw Volume I Part 48

Line 3, ib. misprints 'I' am.'

" 10, ib. drops 'beauteous' inadvertently. TURNBULL, for a wonder, wakes up here to notice a deficient word; but again, instead of collating his texts, inserts without authority 'lofty.' Had he turned to 1648 edition, he would have found 'beauteous.'

Line 20, I have adopted 'Time's' for 'Time.'

" 23, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 30, a reference to the 'Love will find out the way,'

in the old song 'Over the mountain.' 'Weary' is misprinted 'Wary' in 1670.

3d Elegy: Line 7, 'with' for 'by.'

Line 17, our text (1652) misprints 'Or' for 'O.'

" 20, I accept 't" for 'to.'

" 29, 'The Blessed Virgin' for 'The queen of angels.'

" 41, 'facing' for 'gaping.'

" 43, as in line 17 in 1st Elegy.

" 50, 'hath' for 'haue.'

" 51, 'sweet's' for 'sweet.'

" 54, our text (1652) misprints 'thousand.' G.

Secular Poetry.

II.

AIRELLES.

NOTE.

See Note on page 184 for reference on the t.i.tle here and elsewhere of 'Airelles.' G.

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.[89]

Sound forth, coelestiall organs, let heauen's quire Ravish the dancing orbes, make them mount higher With nimble capers, & force Atlas tread Vpon his tiptoes, e're his siluer head Shall kisse his golden curthen. Thou glad Isle, That swim'st as deepe in joy, as seas, now smile; Lett not thy weighty glories, this full tide Of blisse, debase thee; but with a just pride Swell: swell to such an height, that thou maist vye With heauen itselfe for stately majesty.

Doe not deceiue mee, eyes: doe I not see In this blest earth heauen's bright epitome, Circled with pure refined glory? heere I view a rising sunne in this our sphere, Whose blazing beames, maugre the blackest night, And mists of greife, dare force a joyfull light.

The gold, in wch he flames, does well praesage A precious season, & a golden age.

Doe I not see joy keepe his revels now, And sitt triumphing in each cheerfull brow?

Vnmixt felicity with siluer wings Broodeth this sacred place: hither Peace brings The choicest of her oliue-crownes, & praies To haue them guilded with his courteous raies.

Doe I not see a Cynthia, who may Abash the purest beauties of the day?

To whom heauen's lampes often in silent night Steale from their stations to repaire their light.

Doe I not see a constellation, Each little beame of wch would make a sunne?

I meane those three great starres, who well may scorn Acquaintance with the vsher of the morne.

To gaze vpon such starres each humble eye Would be ambitious of astronomie Who would not be a phoenix, & aspire To sacrifice himselfe in such sweet fire?

s.h.i.+ne forth, ye flaming sparkes of Deity, Yee perfect emblemes of divinity.

Fixt in your spheres of glory, shed from thence, The treasures of our liues, your influence, For if you sett, who may not justly feare, The world will be one ocean, one great teare.

UPON THE KING'S CORONATION.

Strange metamorphosis! It was but now The sullen heauen had vail'd its mournfull brow With a black maske: the clouds with child by Greife Traueld th' Olympian plaines to find releife.

But at the last (having not soe much power As to refraine) brought forth a costly shower Of pearly drops, & sent her numerous birth (As tokens of her greife) vnto the Earth.

Alas, the Earth, quick drunke with teares, had reel'd From of her center, had not Ioue vpheld The staggering lumpe: each eye spent all its store, As if heereafter they would weepe noe more: Streight from this sea of teares there does appeare Full glory naming in her owne free sphere.

Amazed Sol throwes of his mournfull weeds, Speedily harnessing his fiery steeds, Vp to Olympus' stately topp he hies, From whence his glorious rivall hee espies.

Then wondring starts, & had the curteous night Withheld her vaile, h' had forfeited his sight.

The joy full sphaeres with a delicious sound Afright th' amazed aire, and dance a round To their owne musick, nor (untill they see This glorious Phoebus sett) will quiet bee.

Each aery Siren now hath gott her song, To whom the merry lambes doe tripp along The laughing meades, as joy full to behold Their winter coates couer'd with naming gold.

Such was the brightnesse of this Northerne starre, It made the virgin phoenix come from farre To be repair'd: hither she did resort, Thinking her father had remou'd his Court.

The l.u.s.tre of his face did s.h.i.+ne soe bright, That Rome's bold egles now were blinded quite; The radiant darts shott from his sparkling eyes, Made euery mortall gladly sacrifice A heart burning in loue; all did adore This rising sunne; their faces nothing wore, But smiles, and ruddy joyes, and at this day All melancholy clouds vanisht away.

VPON THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCESSE ELIZABETH.[90]

Bright starre of Majesty, oh shedd on mee, A precious influence, as sweet as thee.

That with each word, my loaden pen letts fall, The fragrant Spring may be perfum'd withall.

That Sol from them may suck an honied shower, To glutt the stomack of his darling flower.

With such a sugred livery made fine, They shall proclaime to all, that they are thine.

Lett none dare speake of thee, but such as thence Extracted haue a balmy eloquence.

But then, alas, my heart! oh how shall I Cure thee of thy delightfull tympanie?

I cannot hold; such a spring-tide of joy Must haue a pa.s.sage, or 'twill force a way.

Yet shall my loyall tongue keepe this command: But giue me leaue to ease it with my hand.

And though these humble lines soare not soe high, As is thy birth; yet from thy flaming eye Drop downe one sparke of glory, & they'l proue A praesent worthy of Apollo's loue.

My quill to thee may not praesume to sing: Lett th' hallowed plume of a seraphick wing Bee consecrated to this worke, while I Chant to my selfe with rustick melodie.

Rich, liberall heauen, what hath yor treasure store Of such bright angells, that you giue vs more?

Had you, like our great sunne, stamped but one For earth, t' had beene an ample portion.

Had you but drawne one liuely coppy forth, That might interpret our faire Cynthia's worth, Y' had done enough to make the lazy ground Dance, like the nimble spheres, a joyfull round.

But such is the coelestiall excellence, That in the princely patterne s.h.i.+nes, from whence The rest pourtraicted are, that 'tis noe paine To ravish heauen to limbe them o're againe.

Wittnesse this mapp of beauty; euery part Of wch doth show the quintessence of art.

See! nothing's vulgar, every atome heere Speakes the great wisdome of th' artificer.