Part 10 (1/2)

Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun Without a rival half his course has run; Who, while my hand that fairer light confines, May boast himself the brightest thing that s.h.i.+nes. 40

[1] 'Maeonian': Homer.

PUERPERIUM.[1]

1 You G.o.ds that have the power To trouble and compose All that's beneath your bower, Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose.

2 Fair Venus! in thy soft arms The G.o.d of Rage confine; For thy whispers are the charms Which only can divert his fierce design.

3 What though he frown, and to tumult do incline?

Thou the flame Kindled in his breast canst tame, With that snow which unmelted lies on thine.

4 Great G.o.ddess! give this thy sacred island rest; Make heaven smile, That no storm disturb us while Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest.

5 Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana!

Bright as high heaven is, and fertile as earth, Whose beauty relieves us, Whose royal bed gives us Both glory and peace, Our present joy, and all our hopes' increase.

[1] 'Puerperium ': Fenton conjectures that this poem was written in 1640, when the Queen was delivered of her fourth son, the Duke of Gloucester.

A LA MALADE.

Ah, lovely Amoret! the care Of all that know what's good or fair!

Is heaven become our rival too?

Had the rich gifts conferr'd on you So amply thence, the common end Of giving lovers--to pretend?

Hence, to this pining sickness (meant To weary thee to a consent Of leaving us) no power is given 9 Thy beauties to impair; for heaven Solicits thee with such a care, As roses from their stalks we tear, When we would still preserve them new And fresh, as on the bush they grew.

With such a grace you entertain, And look with such contempt on pain, That languis.h.i.+ng you conquer more, And wound us deeper than before.

So lightnings which in storms appear, Scorch more than when the skies are clear. 20

And as pale sickness does invade Your frailer part, the breaches made In that fair lodging, still more clear Make the bright guest, your soul, appear.

So nymphs o'er pathless mountains borne, Their light robes by the brambles torn From their fair limbs, exposing new And unknown beauties to the view Of following G.o.ds, increase their flame And haste to catch the flying game. 30

UPON THE DEATH OF MY LADY RICH.[1]

May those already cursed Ess.e.xian plains, Where hasty death and pining sickness reigns, Prove all a desert! and none there make stay, But savage beasts, or men as wild as they!

There the fair light which all our island graced, Like Hero's taper in the window placed, Such fate from the malignant air did find, 7 As that exposed to the boist'rous wind.

Ah, cruel Heaven! to s.n.a.t.c.h so soon away Her for whose life, had we had time to pray, With thousand vows and tears we should have sought That sad decree's suspension to have wrought.

But we, alas! no whisper of her pain Heard, till 'twas sin to wish her here again.

That horrid word, at once, like lightning spread, Struck all our ears--The Lady Rich is dead!

Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few Who her resemble, and her steps pursue; That death should license have to rage among The fair, the wise, the virtuous, and the young! 20