Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 56

And next to these two blankets, o'er- Cast of the finest gossamer; And then a rug of carded wool, Which, sponge-like, drinking in the dull Light of the moon, seem'd to comply, Cloud-like, the dainty deity: Thus soft she lies; and overhead A spinner's circle is bespread With cobweb curtains, from the roof So neatly sunk, as that no proof Of any tackling can declare What gives it hanging in the air.

OBERON'S FEAST.

Shapcot, to thee the fairy state I with discretion dedicate; Because thou prizest things that are Curious and unfamiliar.

Take first the feast; these dishes gone, We'll see the fairy court anon.

A little mushroom table spread; After short prayers, they set on bread, A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat, With some small glittering grit, to eat His choicest bits with; then in a trice They make a feast less great than nice.

But, all this while his eye is served, We must not think his ear was starved; But there was in place, to stir His spleen, the chirring gra.s.shopper, The merry cricket, puling fly, The piping gnat, for minstrelsy.

And now we must imagine first The elves present, to quench his thirst, A pure seed-pearl of infant dew, Brought and besweeten'd in a blue And pregnant violet; which done, His kitling eyes begin to run Quite through the table, where he spies The horns of pap'ry b.u.t.terflies, Of which he eats; and tastes a little Of what we call the cuckoo's spittle: A little furze-ball pudding stands By, yet not blessed by his hands-- That was too coa.r.s.e; but then forthwith He ventures boldly on the pith Of sugar'd rush, and eats the sag And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag; Gladding his palate with some store Of emmets' eggs: what would he more But beards of mice, a newt's stew'd thigh, A bloated earwig, and a fly: With the red-capp'd worm, that is shut Within the concave of a nut, Brown as his tooth; a little moth, Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth; With wither'd cherries; mandrakes' ears; Moles' eyes; to these, the slain stag's tears; The unctuous dewlaps of a snail; The broke heart of a nightingale O'ercome in music; with a wine Ne'er ravish'd from the flatt'ring rine, But gently press'd from the soft side Of the most sweet and dainty bride, Brought in a dainty daisy, which He fully quaffs up to bewitch His blood to height? This done, commended Grace by his priest, the feast is ended.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

1 Good-morrow to the day so fair; Good-morning, sir, to you; Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew:

2 Good-morning to this primrose too; Good-morrow to each maid, That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my love is laid.

3 Ah, woe is me; woe, woe is me!

Alack, and well-a-day!

For pity, sir, find out this bee Which bore my love away.

4 I'll seek him in your bonnet brave, I'll seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think they've made his grave I' th' bed of strawberries:

5 I'll seek him there; I know ere this The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him.

6 Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him.

7 He's soft and tender, pray take heed, With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home;--but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him!

CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING.

1 Get up, get up for shame; the blooming morn Upon her wings presents the G.o.d unshorn: See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree: Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, Above an hour since; yet you are not drest; Nay, not so much as out of bed; When all the birds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, Nay, profanation, to keep in; When as a thousand virgins on this day, Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May!

2 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 t.i.tan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; Few beads are best, when once we go a-Maying!

3 Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this An ark, a tabernacle is Made up of whitethorn newly interwove, As if here were those cooler shades of love.

Can such delights be in the street And open fields, and we not see't?

Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey The proclamation made for May, And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying!

4 There's not a budding boy or girl this day But is got up, and gone to bring in May: A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with whitethorn laden home: Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream, Before that we have left to dream; And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even; Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the key's betraying This night, and locks pick'd; yet we're not a-Maying!

5 Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And take the harmless folly of the time: We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty: Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun: And, as a vapour, or a drop of rain, Once lost, can ne'er be found again, So when or you, or I, are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade, All love, all liking, all delight Lies drown'd with us in endless night.

Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying!

JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER.

1 O thou, the wonder of all days!

O paragon and pearl of praise!

O Virgin Martyr! ever bless'd Above the rest Of all the maiden train! we come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb.

2 Thus, thus, and thus we compa.s.s round Thy harmless and enchanted ground; And, as we sing thy dirge, we will The daffodil And other flowers lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone.

3 Thou wonder of all maids! list here, Of daughters all the dearest dear; The eye of virgins, nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meads, from whence we get The primrose and the violet.

4 Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy, By thy sad loss, our liberty: His was the bond and cov'nant; yet Thou paid'st the debt, Lamented maid! He won the day, But for the conquest thou didst pay.

5 Thy father brought with him along The olive branch and victor's song: He slew the Ammonites, we know, But to thy woe; And, in the purchase of our peace, The cure was worse than the disease.

6 For which obedient zeal of thine, We offer thee, before thy shrine, Our sighs for storax, tears for wine; And to make fine And fresh thy hea.r.s.e-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every year.

7 Receive, for this thy praise, our tears; Receive this offering of our hairs; Receive these crystal vials, fill'd With tears distill'd From teeming eyes; to these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting,

8 To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, These laces, ribands, and these fauls, These veils, wherewith we used to hide The bashful bride, When we conduct her to her groom: All, all, we lay upon thy tomb.

9 No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed; No more at yearly festivals We cowslip b.a.l.l.s Or chains of columbines shall make For this or that occasion's sake.

10 No, no; our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in a winding-sheet with thee; 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave, Or if we have One seed of life left,'tis to keep A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.

11 Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise: May sweets grow here! and smoke from hence Fat frankincense.

Let balm and ca.s.sia send their scent From out thy maiden-monument.

12 May no wolf howl or screech-owl stir A wing upon thy sepulchre!

No boisterous winds or storms To starve or wither Thy soft, sweet earth! but, like a spring, Love keep it ever flouris.h.i.+ng.

13 May all thy maids, at wonted hours, Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers: May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male-incense burn Upon thine altar! then return And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Sweet country life, to such unknown Whose lives are others', not their own!

But serving courts and cities, be Less happy, less enjoying thee!

Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam To seek and bring rough pepper home; Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove, To bring from thence the scorched clove: Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, Bring'st home the ingot from the West.

No: thy ambition's masterpiece Flies no thought higher than a fleece; Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear All scores, and so to end the year; But walk'st about thy own dear bounds, Not envying others' larger grounds: For well thou know'st, 'tis not the extent Of land makes life, but sweet content.

When now the c.o.c.k, the ploughman's horn, Calls forth the lily-wristed morn, Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go, Which though well-soil'd, yet thou dost know That the best compost for the lands Is the wise master's feet and hands.

There at the plough thou find'st thy team, With a hind whistling there to them; And cheer'st them up by singing how The kingdom's portion is the plough.

This done, then to th' enamell'd meads, Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads, Thou seest a present G.o.dlike power Imprinted in each herb and flower; And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.

Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat Unto the dewlaps up in meat; And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer, The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, To make a pleasing pastime there.

These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox; And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet gra.s.s, as backs with wool; And leav'st them as they feed and fill; A shepherd piping on a hill.

For sports, for pageantry, and plays, Thou hast thy eves and holidays; On which the young men and maids meet, To exercise their dancing feet; Tripping the comely country round, With daffodils and daisies crown'd.

Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast; Thy May-poles too, with garlands graced; Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, Thy shearing feast, which never fail; Thy harvest-home, thy wa.s.sail-bowl, That's toss'd up after fox i' the hole; Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-night kings And queens, thy Christmas revellings; Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit; And no man pays too dear for it.

To these thou hast thy times to go, And trace the hare in the treacherous snow; Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The lark into the trammel net; Thou hast thy c.o.c.krood, and thy glade To take the precious pheasant made; Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls, then, To catch the pilfering birds, not men.