Part 77 (1/2)

DESTRUCTION AND RENOVATION OF ALL THINGS.

1 As the seas, Boiling with swelling waves, aloft did rise, And met with mighty showers and pouring rain From heaven's spouts; so the broad flas.h.i.+ng skies, With brimstone thick and clouds of fiery bane, Shall meet with raging Etna's and Vesuvius' flame.

2 The burning bowels of this wasting ball Shall gallup up great flakes of rolling fire, And belch out pitchy flames, till over all Having long raged, Vulcan himself shall tire, And (the earth an ash-heap made) shall then expire: Here Nature, laid asleep in her own urn, With gentle rest right easily will respire, Till to her pristine task she do return As fresh as Phoenix young under the Arabian morn.

3 Oh, happy they that then the first are born, While yet the world is in her vernal pride; For old corruption quite away is worn, As metal pure so is her mould well tried.

Sweet dews, cool-breathing airs, and s.p.a.ces wide Of precious spicery, wafted with soft wind: Fair comely bodies goodly beautified.

4 For all the while her purged ashes rest, These relics dry suck in the heavenly dew, And roscid manna rains upon her breast, And fills with sacred milk, sweet, fresh, and new, Where all take life and doth the world renew; And then renewed with pleasure be yfed.

A green, soft mantle doth her bosom strew With fragrant herbs and flowers embellished, Where without fault or shame all living creatures bed.

A DISTEMPERED FANCY.

1 Then the wild fancy from her horrid womb Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadful sight!

Overgrown toads, fierce serpents, thence will come, Red-scaled dragons, with deep burning light In their hollow eye-pits: with these she must fight: Then think herself ill wounded, sorely stung.

Old fulsome hags, with scabs and scurf bedight, Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue On their raw leather lips, these near will to her clung,

2 And lovingly salute against her will, Closely embrace, and make her mad with woe: She'd lever thousand times they did her kill, Than force her such vile baseness undergo.

Anon some giant his huge self will show, Gaping with mouth as vast as any cave, With stony, staring eyes, and footing slow: She surely deems him her live, walking grave, From that dern hollow pit knows not herself to save.

3 After a while, tossed on the ocean main, A boundless sea she finds of misery; The fiery snorts of the leviathan, That makes the boiling waves before him fly, She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye: If here she 'scape, deep gulfs and threatening rocks Her frighted self do straightway terrify; Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks, With these she is amazed, and thousand such-like mocks.

SOUL COMPARED TO A LANTERN.

1 Like to a light fast locked in lantern dark, Whereby by night our wary steps we guide In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark, Some weaker rays through the black top do glide, And flusher streams perhaps from h.o.r.n.y side.

But when we've pa.s.sed the peril of the way, Arrived at home, and laid that case aside, The naked light how clearly doth it ray, And spread its joyful beams as bright as summer's day.

2 Even so, the soul, in this contracted state, Confined to these strait instruments of sense, More dull and narrowly doth operate.

At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence, Here tastes, there smells; but when she's gone from hence, Like naked lamp, she is one s.h.i.+ning sphere, And round about has perfect cognoscence Whate'er in her horizon doth appear: She is one orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear.

WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE.

Chamberlayne was, during life, a poor man, and, till long after his death, an unappreciated poet. He was a physician at Shaftesbury, Dorsets.h.i.+re; born in 1619, and died in 1689. He appears to have been present among the Royalists at the battle of Newbury. He complains bitterly of his narrow circ.u.mstances, and yet he lived to a long age.

He published, in 1658, a tragic comedy, ent.i.tled 'Love's Victory,' and in 1659, 'Pharonnida,' a heroic poem.

The latter is the main support of his literary reputation. It was discovered to be good by Thomas Campbell, who might say,

'I was the first that ever burst Into that silent sea.'

Silent, however, it continues since, and can never be expected to be thronged by visitors. The story is interesting, and many of the separate thoughts, expressions, and pa.s.sages are beautiful, as, for instance--