Poems (1686) Part 10

First take thy Hapless Way Along the Rocky Northern Sh.o.r.e, Infamous for the Matchless Store Of Wracks within that Bay.

None o're the Cursed Beach e're crost, Unless the Robb'd, the Wrack'd, or Lost Where on the Strand lye spread, The Sculls of many Dead.

Their mingl'd Bones, Among the Stones, Thy Wretched Feet must tread.

III.

The Trees along the Coast, Stretch forth to Heaven their blasted Arms, As if they plaind the North-winds harms, And Youthful Verdure lost.

There stands a Grove of Fatal Ewe, Where Sun nere pierc't, nor Wind ere blew.

In it a Brooke doth fleet, The Noise must guide thy Feet, For there's no Light, But all is Night, And Darkness that you meet.

IV.

Follow th'Infernal Wave, Until it spread into a Floud, Poysoning the Creatures of the Wood, There twice a day a Slave, I know not for what Impious Thing, Bears thence the Liquor of that Spring.

It adds to the sad Place, To hear how at each Pace, He curses G.o.d, Himself, his Load, For such his Forlorn Case.

V.

Next make no Noyse, nor talk, Until th'art past a Narrow Glade, Where Light does only break the Shade; 'Tis a Murderers Walk.

Observing this thou need'st not fear, He sleeps the Day or Wakes elsewhere.

Though there's no Clock or Chime, The Hour he did his Crime, His Soul awakes, His Conscience quakes And warns him that's the Time.

VI.

Thy Steps must next advance, Where Horrour, Sin, and Spectars dwell, Where the Woods Shade seems turn'd h.e.l.l, Witches here Nightly Dance, And Sprights joyn with them when they call, The Murderer dares not view the Ball.

For Snakes and Toads conspire, To make them up a Quire.

And for their Light, And Torches bright, The Fiends dance all on fire.

VII.

Press on till thou descrie Among the Trees sad, gastly, wan, Thinne as the Shadow of a Man, One that does ever crie, She is not; and she ne're will be, Despair and Death come swallow me, Leave him; and keep thy way, No more thou now canst stray Thy Feet do stand, In Sorrows Land, It's Kingdomes every way.

VIII.

Here Gloomy Light will shew Reard like a Castle to the Skie, A Horrid Cliffe there standing nigh Shading a Creek below.

In which Recess there lies a Cave, Dreadful as h.e.l.l, still as the Grave.

Sea-Monsters there abide, The coming of the Tide, No Noise is near, To make them fear, G.o.d-sleep might there reside.

IX.

But when the Boysterous Seas, With Roaring Waves resumes this Cell, You'd swear the Thunders there did dwell.

So lowd he makes his Plea; So Tempests bellow under ground, And Ecchos multiply the Sound!

This is the place I chose, Changeable like my Woes, Now calmly Sad, Then Raging Mad, As move my Bitter Throwes.

X.

Such Dread besets this Part, That all the Horrour thou hast past, Are but Degrees to This at last.

The sight must break thy Heart.

Here Bats and Owles that hate the Light Fly and enjoy Eternal Night.

Scales of Serpents, Fish-bones, Th'Adders Eye, and Toad-stones, Are all the Light, Hath blest my Sight, Since first began my Groans.

XI.

When thus I lost the Sense, Of all the heathful World calls Bliss, And held it Joy, those Joys to miss, When Beauty was Offence: Celestial Strains did read the Aire, Shaking these Mansions of Despaire; A Form Divine and bright, Stroke Day through all that Night As when Heav'ns Queen In h.e.l.l was seen, With wonder and affright!

XII.

The Monsters fled for fear, The Terrors of the Cursed Wood Dismantl'd were, and where they stood, No longer did appear.

The Gentle Pow'r, which wrought this thing, _Eudora_ was, who thus did sing.

_Dissolv'd is_ Cloris _spell, From whence thy Evils fell, Send her this Clue, 'Tis there most due And thy Phantastick h.e.l.l_.

Upon a Little Lady

_Under the Discipline of an Excellent Person_.

I.

How comes the Day orecast? the Flaming Sun Darkn'd at Noon, as if his Course were run?

He never rose more proud, more glad, more gay, Ne're courted _Daphne_ with a brighter Ray!

And now in Clouds he wraps his Head, As if not _Daphne_, but himself were dead!

And all the little Winged Troop Forbear to sing, and sit and droop; The Flowers do languish on their Beds, And fading hang their Mourning Heads; The little _Cupids_ discontented, shew, In Grief and Rage one breaks his Bow, An other tares his Cheeks and Haire, A third sits blubring in Despaire, Confessing though, in Love, he be, A Powerful, Dreadful Deitie, A Child, in Wrath, can do as much as he: Whence is this Evil hurl'd, On all the sweetness of the World?

Among those Things with Beauty s.h.i.+ne, (Both Humane natures, and Divine) There was not so much sorrow spi'd, No, not that Day the sweet _Adonis_ died!

II.

Ambitious both to know the Ill, and to partake, The little Weeping G.o.ds I thus bespake.

Ye n.o.blest Pow'rs and Gentlest that Above, Govern us Men, but govern still with Love, Vouchsafe to tell, what can that Sorrow be, Disorders Heaven, and wounds a Deitie.

My Prayer not spoken out, One of the Winged Rout, With Indignation great, Sprung from his Airie-Seat, And mounting to a Higher Cloud, With Thunder, or a Voice as loud Cried, Mortal there, there seek the Grief o'th'G.o.ds, Where thou findst Plagues, and their revengeful Rods!

And in the Instant that the Thing was meant, He bent his Bow, his Arrow plac't, and to the mark it sent!

I follow'd with my watchful Eye, To the Place where the Shaft did flie, But O unheard-of Prodigy.

It was retorted back again, And he that sent it, felt the pain, Alas! I think the little G.o.d was therewith slain!

But wanton Darts ne're pierce where Honours found, And those that shoot them, do their own b.r.e.a.s.t.s wound.

III.