Part 56 (2/2)

O Virgin Martyr! ever bless'd Above the rest Of all the maiden train! we come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

2 Thus, thus, and thus we compa.s.s round Thy harmless and enchanted ground; And, as we sing thy dirge, we will The daffodil And other flowers lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone.

3 Thou wonder of all maids! list here, Of daughters all the dearest dear; The eye of virgins, nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meads, from whence we get The primrose and the violet.

4 Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy, By thy sad loss, our liberty: His was the bond and cov'nant; yet Thou paid'st the debt, Lamented maid! He won the day, But for the conquest thou didst pay.

5 Thy father brought with him along The olive branch and victor's song: He slew the Ammonites, we know, But to thy woe; And, in the purchase of our peace, The cure was worse than the disease.

6 For which obedient zeal of thine, We offer thee, before thy shrine, Our sighs for storax, tears for wine; And to make fine And fresh thy hea.r.s.e-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every year.

7 Receive, for this thy praise, our tears; Receive this offering of our hairs; Receive these crystal vials, fill'd With tears distill'd From teeming eyes; to these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting,

8 To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, These laces, ribands, and these fauls, These veils, wherewith we used to hide The bashful bride, When we conduct her to her groom: All, all, we lay upon thy tomb.

9 No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed; No more at yearly festivals We cowslip b.a.l.l.s Or chains of columbines shall make For this or that occasion's sake.

10 No, no; our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in a winding-sheet with thee; 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave, Or if we have One seed of life left,'tis to keep A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.

11 Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise: May sweets grow here! and smoke from hence Fat frankincense.

Let balm and ca.s.sia send their scent From out thy maiden-monument.

12 May no wolf howl or screech-owl stir A wing upon thy sepulchre!

No boisterous winds or storms To starve or wither Thy soft, sweet earth! but, like a spring, Love keep it ever flouris.h.i.+ng.

13 May all thy maids, at wonted hours, Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers: May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male-incense burn Upon thine altar! then return And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Sweet country life, to such unknown Whose lives are others', not their own!

But serving courts and cities, be Less happy, less enjoying thee!

Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam To seek and bring rough pepper home; Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove, To bring from thence the scorched clove: Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, Bring'st home the ingot from the West.

No: thy ambition's masterpiece Flies no thought higher than a fleece; Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear All scores, and so to end the year; But walk'st about thy own dear bounds, Not envying others' larger grounds: For well thou know'st, 'tis not the extent Of land makes life, but sweet content.

When now the c.o.c.k, the ploughman's horn, Calls forth the lily-wristed morn, Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go, Which though well-soil'd, yet thou dost know That the best compost for the lands Is the wise master's feet and hands.

There at the plough thou find'st thy team, With a hind whistling there to them; And cheer'st them up by singing how The kingdom's portion is the plough.

This done, then to th' enamell'd meads, Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads, Thou seest a present G.o.dlike power Imprinted in each herb and flower; And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.

Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat Unto the dewlaps up in meat; And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer, The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, To make a pleasing pastime there.

These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox; And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet gra.s.s, as backs with wool; And leav'st them as they feed and fill; A shepherd piping on a hill.

For sports, for pageantry, and plays, Thou hast thy eves and holidays; On which the young men and maids meet, To exercise their dancing feet; Tripping the comely country round, With daffodils and daisies crown'd.

Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast; Thy May-poles too, with garlands graced; Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, Thy shearing feast, which never fail; Thy harvest-home, thy wa.s.sail-bowl, That's toss'd up after fox i' the hole; Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-night kings And queens, thy Christmas revellings; Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit; And no man pays too dear for it.

To these thou hast thy times to go, And trace the hare in the treacherous snow; Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The lark into the trammel net; Thou hast thy c.o.c.krood, and thy glade To take the precious pheasant made; Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls, then, To catch the pilfering birds, not men.

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