There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, 155 As if the waters hid them from the wind; Which never wash'd but at a higher tide
The frizzled coats which do the mountains hide; Where never gale was longer known to stay 159 Than from the smooth wave it had swept away The new divorced leaves, that from each side Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. At further end the creek a stately wood Gave a kind shadow to the brackish flood Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff Than that sky-scaling Peak of Teneriffe, Upon whose tops the hernshaw bred her young, And hoary moss upon their branches hung; Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow; And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, None could allot them less than Nestor's years. As under their command the thronged creek Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek Where he his little boat might safely hide, Till it was fraught with what the world beside Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight Though in the time when Greece was at her height. The ruddy horses of the rosy Morn Out of the Eastern gates had newly borne Their blushing mistress in her golden chair, Spreading new light throughout our hemisphere, When fairest Cælia with a lovelier crew Of damsels than brave Latmus ever knew Came forth to meet the youngsters, who had here Cut down an oak that long withouten peer Bore his round head imperiously above His other mates there, consecrate to Jove. The wished time drew on: and Calia now,
Guided with reins of gold and silver twist The spotless birds about them as they list: Which would have sung a song (ere they were gone)
Had unkind Nature given them more than one; Or in bestowing that had not done wrong, 215 And made their sweet lives forfeit one sad song.
May, be thou never graced with birds that sing, Nor Flora's pride!
In thee all flowers and roses spring, Mine only died.
ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE
Underneath this sable herse Lies the subject of all verse:
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother: Death, ere thou hast slain another Fair and learn'd and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.
ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674)
UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES
I have lost, and lately, these
Many dainty mistresses: Stately Julia, prime of all;
Smooth Anthea, for a skin
That had the fame for her white arched brow, While all her lovely fellows busied were In picking off the gems from Tellus' hair, Made tow'rds the creek, where Philocel, unspied Of maid or shepherd that their May-games plied, Receiv'd his wish'd-for Cælia, and begun To steer his boat contrary to the sun, Who could have wish'd another in his place To guide the car of light, or that his race Were to have end (so he might bless his hap) In Cælia's bosom, not in Thetis' lap. The boat oft danc'd for joy of what it held: The hoist-up sail not quick but gently swell'd, And often shook, as fearing what might fall, Ere she deliver'd what she went withal. Winged Argestes, fair Aurora's son, Licens'd that day to leave his dungeon, Meekly attended and did never err,
Sweet Electra, and the choice
Myrha, for the lute and voice. Next, Corinna, for her wit,
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown or hair: Fear not; the leaves will strew Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; Come and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still
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