תמונות בעמוד

The Gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way; And therefore we may boldly say,

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I, And one dear She, live, and embracing die! She, who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts solitude. I should have then this only fear— Lest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me, And so make a city here.


Now, by my Love, the greatest oath that is,
None loves you half so well as I:
I do not ask your love for this;

But for Heaven's sake believe me, or I die.
No servant e'er but did deserve

His master should believe that he does serve; And I'll ask no more wages, though I starve.

'Tis no luxurious diet this, and sure
I shall not by 't too lusty prove;
Yet shall it willingly endure,
If 't can but keep together life and love.
Being your prisoner and your slave,
I do not feasts and banquets look to have ;
A little bread and water's all I crave.

On a sigh of pity I a year can live;
One tear will keep me twenty, at least;

Fifty, a gentle look will give; An hundred years on one kind word I'll feast:

A thousand more will added be, If you an inclination have for me; And all beyond is vast eternity!


THOU robb'st my days of business and delights,
Of sleep thou robb'st my nights;
Ah, lovely thief! what wilt thou do?
What? rob me of heaven too !
Thou even my prayers dost steal from me;
And I, with wild idolatry,

Begin to God, and end them all to thee.

Is it a sin to love, that it should thus,
Like an ill conscience, torture us?
Whate’er I do, where’er I go,
(None guiltless e'er was haunted sol)
Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,
And still thy shape does me pursue,

As if, not you me, but I had murder'd you.

From books I strive some remedy to take,
But thy name all the letters make;
Whate'er 'tis writ, I find That there,
Like points and commas every-where:
Me bless'd for this let no man hold;
For I, as Midas did of old,

Perish by turning every thing to gold.

What do I seek, alas! or why do I
Attempt in vain from thee to fly?

For making thee my deity,
I gave thee then ubiquity.
My pains resemble hell in this;
The divine presence there too is,
But to torment men, not to give them bliss.


TIs well, 'tis well with them, say I, Whose short-lived passions with themselves can

For none can be unhappy, who, [die;

*Midst all his ills, a time does know (Though ne'er so long) when he shall not be so.

Whatever parts of me remain,
Those parts will still the love of thee retain;

For 'twas not only in my heart,

But, like a God, by powerful art 'Twas all in all, and all in every part.

My affection no more perish can
Than the first matter that compounds a man.

Hereafter, if one dust of me

Mix’d with another's substance be, "Twill leaven that whole lump with love of thee.

Let Nature, if she please, disperse My atoms over all the universe;

At the last they easily shall

Themselves know, and together call;
For thy love, like a mark, is stamp'd on all.


Now, sure, within this twelvemonth past, I 'ave loved at least some twenty years or more: The account of Love runs much more fast Than that with which our life does score: So, though my life be short, yet I may prove The great Methusalem of Love.

Not that Love's hours or minutes are
Shorter than those our being's measured by ;
But they're more close compacted far,
And so in lesser room do lie :
Thin airy things extend themselves in space,
Things solid take up little place.

Yet Love, alas ! and Life, in me,
Are not two several things, but purely one;
At once how can there in it be
A double, different motion ?
O yes, there may; for so the self-same sun
At once does slow and swiftly run:

Swiftly his daily journey he goes, But treads his annual with a statelier pace; And does three hundred rounds enclose Within one yearly circle's space; At once, with double course in the same sphere, He runs the day, and walks the year.

When Soul does to myself refer,
"Tis then my life, and does but slowly move;
But when it does relate to her,
It swiftly flies, and then is Love.
Love's my diurnal course, divided right
"Twixt hope and fear—my day and night.


TAKE heed, take heed, thou lovely maid, Nor be by glittering ills betray'd; Thyself for money! oh, let no man know The price of beauty fallen so low ! What dangers ought'st thou not to dread, When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune led?

The foolish Indian, that sells His precious gold for beads and bells, Does a more wise and gainful traffic hold Than thou, who sell'st thyself for gold. What gains in such a bargain are : * He'll in thy mines dig better treasures far.

Can gold, alas! with thee compare? .
The sun, that makes it, 's not so fair;
The sun, which can nor make nor ever see
A thing so beautiful as thee,
In all the journeys he does pass,
Though the sea served him for a looking-glass.

Bold was the wretch that cheapen'd thee;
Since Magus, none so bold as he:
Thou'rt so divine a thing, that thee to buy
Is to be counted simony;
Too dear he'll find his sordid price
Has forfeited that and the Benefice.

If it be lawful thee to buy,
There's none can pay that rate but I;
Nothing on earth a fitting price can be,
But what on earth's most like to thee;
And that my heart does only bear;
For there thyself, thy very self is there.

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