Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 56

IF to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from bl.u.s.tering wind or swallowing wave.

But I'll not sigh one blast or gale To swell my sail, Or pay a tear to 'suage The foaming blue G.o.d's rage; For whether he will let me pa.s.s Or no, I'm still as happy as I was.

Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and s.p.a.ce controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown; and greet as Angels greet.

So then we do antic.i.p.ate Our after-fate, And are alive i' the skies, If thus our lips and eyes Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658

345. Gratiana Dancing

SHE beat the happy pavement-- By such a star made firmament, Which now no more the roof enves!

But swells up high, with Atlas even, Bearing the brighter n.o.bler heaven, And, in her, all the deities.

Each step trod out a Lover's thought, And the ambitious hopes he brought Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts, Such sweet command and gentle awe, As, when she ceased, we sighing saw The floor lay paved with broken hearts.

Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658

346. To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her Hair

AMARANTHA sweet and fair, Ah, braid no more that s.h.i.+ning hair!

As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thee, let it fly!

Let it fly as unconfined As its calm ravisher the wind, Who hath left his darling, th' East, To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Every tress must be confest, But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light In ribbands, and o'ercloud in night, Like the Sun in 's early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day!

Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658

347. The Gra.s.shopper

O THOU that swing'st upon the waving hair Of some well-filled oaten beard, Drunk every night with a delicious tear Dropt thee from heaven, where thou wert rear'd!

The joys of earth and air are thine entire, That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly; And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.

Up with the day, the Sun thou welcom'st then, Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams, And all these merry days mak'st merry men, Thyself, and melancholy streams.

Richard Lovelace. 1618-1658

348. To Althea, from Prison

WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free-- Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

Abraham Cowley. 1618-1667

349. Anacreontics 1. Drinking

THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but little need of drink) Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up, So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.

The busy Sun (and one would guess By 's drunken fiery face no less) Drinks up the sea, and when he 's done, The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun: They drink and dance by their own light, They drink and revel all the night: Nothing in Nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round.

Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high, Fill all the gla.s.ses there--for why Should every creature drink but I?

Why, man of morals, tell me why?

Abraham Cowley. 1618-1667

350. Anacreontics 2. The Epicure

UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade, On flowerly beds supinely laid, With odorous oils my head o'erflowing, And around it roses growing, What should I do but drink away The heat and troubles of the day?

In this more than kingly state Love himself on me shall wait.

Fill to me, Love! nay, fill it up!

And mingled cast into the cup Wit and mirth and n.o.ble fires, Vigorous health and gay desires.

The wheel of life no less will stay In a smooth than rugged way: Since it equally doth flee, Let the motion pleasant be.

Why do we precious ointments shower?-- n.o.bler wines why do we pour?-- Beauteous flowers why do we spread Upon the monuments of the dead?

Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so.

Crown me with roses while I live, Now your wines and ointments give: After death I nothing crave, Let me alive my pleasures have: All are Stoics in the grave.

Abraham Cowley. 1618-1667

351. Anacreontics 3. The Swallow

FOOLISH prater, what dost thou So early at my window do?

Cruel bird, thou'st ta'en away A dream out of my arms to-day; A dream that ne'er must equall'd be By all that waking eyes may see.

Thou this damage to repair Nothing half so sweet and fair, Nothing half so good, canst bring, Tho' men say thou bring'st the Spring.

Abraham Cowley. 1618-1667

352. On the Death of Mr. William Hervey

IT was a dismal and a fearful night: Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling Light, When Sleep, Death's image, left my troubled breast By something liker Death possest.

My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, And on my soul hung the dull weight Of some intolerable fate.

What bell was that? Ah me! too much I know!

My sweet companion and my gentle peer, Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, Thy end for ever and my life to moan?