A SONG.

ORD, when the sense of Thy sweet grace
Sends up my soul to seek Thy face,
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,
I die in love's delicious fire.

O Love! I am thy sacrifice,
Be still triumphant, blessed eyes;
Still shine on me, fair suns! that I
Still may behold though still I die.

SECOND PART.

Though still I die, I live again,
Still longing so to be still slain;
So gainful is such loss of breath,
I die even in desire of death.
Still live in me this loving strife
Of living death and dying life:
For while Thou sweetly slayest me,
Dead to myself, I live in Thee.

TO MISTRESS M. R.* COUNSEL CONCERNING HER CHOICE.

EAR, heav'n-designed soul!

Amongst the rest

Of suitors that besiege your maiden breast,
Why may not I

My fortune try,

And venture to speak one good word,

Not for myself, alas! but for my dearer Lord?
You've seen already, in this lower sphere
Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here.
Say, gentle soul, what can you find
But painted shapes,

Peacocks and apes,

Illustrious flies,

Gilded dunghills, glorious lies,
Goodly surmises

And deep disguises,

Oaths of water, words of wind?

Truth bids me say, 'tis time you ceased to trust

Your soul to any son of dust.

'Tis time you listen to a braver love,

Which from above

Calls you up higher,
And bids you come
And choose your room

* See antea, p. 61.

Among his own fair sons of fire,

Where you among

The golden throng,

That watches at his palace doors,

May pass along

And follow those fair stars of yours;
Stars much too fair and pure to wait upon
The false smiles of a sublunary sun.

Sweet, let me prophesy that at last 'twill prove
Your wary love

Lays up

his purer and more precious vows, And means them for a far more worthy spouse

Than this world of lies can give ye,

Ev'n for him with whom nor cost,

Nor love, nor labour can be lost;

Him who never will deceive

ye.

Let not my Lord, the mighty lover
Of souls, disdain that I discover

The hidden art

Of His high stratagem to win your heart.

It was His heav'nly art

Kindly to cross you

In

your mistaken love,

That, at the next remove,

Thence He might toss you,

And strike your troubled heart

Home to Himself, to hide it in His breast,
The bright ambrosial nest,

Of love, of life, and everlasting rest.
Happy mistake!

That thus shall wake

Your wise soul, never to be won

Now with a love below the sun.

Your first choice fails; O, when you choose again,
May it not be among the sons of men !

ALEXIAS.

The Complaint of the forsaken wife of Saint Alexis.

THE FIRST ELEGY.

LATE the Roman youth's loved praise and
pride,

Whom long none could obtain, though
thousands tried,

Lo, here am left, alas! for my lost mate
T'embrace my tears, and kiss an unkind fate.
Sure in my early woes stars were at strife,
And tried to make a widow ere a wife.

Nor can I tell, and this new tears doth breed,

In what strange path my Lord's fair footsteps bleed. O, knew I where he wander'd, I should see

Some solace in my sorrow's certainty;

I'd send my woes in words should weep for me.
Who knows how pow'rful well-writ pray'rs would be!
Sending's too slow a word, myself would fly;

Who knows my own heart's woes so well as I?
But how shall I steal hence? Alexis, thou,
Ah, thou thyself, alas! has taught me how
Love, too, that leads thee would lend me the wings

way,

To bear me harmless through the hardest things:
And where love lends the wing, and leads the
What dangers can there be dare say me nay?
If I be shipwreck'd, love shall teach to swim;
If drown'd, sweet is the death endured for him;
The noted sea shall change his name with me,
I'mongst the blest stars a new name shall be ;
And sure where lovers make their watʼry graves
The weeping mariner will augment the waves.
For who so hard, but, passing by that way,
Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say,
Here't was the Roman maid found a hard fate,
While through the world she sought her wand'ring mate;
Here perish'd she, poor heart! heav'ns, be my vows
As true to me as she was to her spouse!

O, live so rare a love! live! and in thee
The too frail life of female constancy.

Farewell, and shine, fair soul, shine there above,
Firm in thy crown as here fast in thy love.
There thy lost fugitive thou hast found at last;
Be happy, and for ever hold him fast!

THE SECOND ELEGY.

HOUGH all the joys I had fled hence with thee, Unkind! yet are my tears still true to me; I'm wedded o'er again since thou art gone, Nor could'st thou, cruel, leave me quite alone.