Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 36

VIII.

Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, Painted with every choicest flower that grows, That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, To strow the fields with odours where he goes, Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose.

So down she let her eyelids fall, to s.h.i.+ne Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine.

SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST.

Love is the blossom where there blows Everything that lives or grows: Love doth make the heavens to move, And the sun doth burn in love: Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak; Under whose shadows lions wild, Softened by love, grow tame and mild: Love no medicine can appease, He burns the fishes in the seas; Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench: Love did make the b.l.o.o.d.y spear Once a leafy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: And of all love's joyful flame, I the bud, and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me, The wooing shall thy winning be.

See, see the flowers that below, Now as fresh as morning blow, And of all, the virgin rose, That as bright Aurora shows: How they all unleaved die, Losing their virginity; Like unto a summer-shade, But now born, and now they fade.

Everything doth pa.s.s away, There is danger in delay: Come, come gather then the rose, Gather it, ere it you lose.

All the sand of Tagus' sh.o.r.e Into my bosom casts his ore; All the valley's swimming corn To my house is yearly borne: Every grape of every vine Is gladly bruised to make me wine.

While ten thousand kings, as proud, To carry up my train have bowed, And a world of ladies send me In my chambers to attend me.

All the stars in heaven that s.h.i.+ne, And ten thousand more, are mine: Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.'

I

Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, And b.l.o.o.d.y armour with late slaughter warm, And looking down on his weak militants, Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm.

And in this lower field dis.p.a.cing wide, Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, Anchor their fleshly s.h.i.+ps fast in his wounded side.

II.

Here may the band, that now in triumph s.h.i.+nes, And that (before they were invested thus) In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, Pitched round about in order glorious, Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, All their eternal day in songs employing, Joying their end, without end of their joying, While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying.

III.

Full, yet without satiety, of that Which whets and quiets greedy appet.i.te, Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, But one eternal day, and endless light Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, Beholding him, whom never eye could see, Magnifying him, that cannot greater be.

IV.

How can such joy as this want words to speak?

And yet what words can speak such joy as this?

Far from the world, that might their quiet break, Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold The more they do behold, the more they would behold.

V.

Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, That on G.o.d's sweating altar burning lies; Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; Their understanding naked truth, their wills The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills.

VI.

No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, No bloodless malady empales their face, No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, No nakedness their bodies doth embase, No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, No fear of death the joy of life devours, No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours.

VII.

But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; The infant wonders how he came so old, And old man how he came so young again; Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow.

VIII.

For things that pa.s.s are past, and in this field The indeficient spring no winter fears; The trees together fruit and blossom yield, The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow.

IX.

About the holy city rolls a flood Of molten crystal, like a sea of gla.s.s, On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, Of living diamonds the building was That all things else, besides itself, did pa.s.s: Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave.

X.

In midst of this city celestial, Where the eternal temple should have rose, Lightened the idea beatifical: End and beginning of each thing that grows, Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere.

XI.

Changer of all things, yet immutable; Before, and after all, the first, and last: That moving all is yet immoveable; Great without quant.i.ty, in whose forecast, Things past are present, things to come are past; Swift without motion, to whose open eye The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh.

XII.

It is no flaming l.u.s.tre, made of light; No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; Ambrosia, for to feast the appet.i.te: Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: And yet it is a kind of inward feast; A harmony that sounds within the breast; An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest.

XIII.

A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; A light unseen, yet s.h.i.+nes in every place; A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, That no satiety can e'er unlace: Ingraced into so high a favour, there The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear.

XIV.

Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, Spending your endless evening that remains, Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name!

XV.

Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; Were every verse as smooth as smoothest gla.s.s; And every member turned to a tongue; And every tongue were made of sounding bra.s.s: Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas!

Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) The place, where David hath new songs devised, As in his burning throne he sits emparadised.

XVI.

Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour That overflowing skill, wherewith of old Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, But that it is the heaven of our souls: Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds!

XVII.

Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem Your G.o.d all rough, and s.h.a.ggy-haired to be; And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, When sojourning with us in low degree, He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; And that his dear remembrance might abide, Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died?

XVIII.

But now such lively colours did embeam His sparkling forehead; and such s.h.i.+ning rays Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays (Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, Knitting a thousand knots over and over, And dying still for love, but they her still recover.

XIX.

Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed Attractions infinite; where to express His love, high G.o.d all heaven as captive leads, And all the banners of his grace dispreads, And in those windows doth his arms englaze, And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze.