網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

XIII.--ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.

AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that rollid

Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these may grow

A hundred fold, who, having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

XIV.-ON HIS BLINDNESS.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide,

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more To serve therewith my Maker, and present [bent

My true account, lest He, returning, chide;
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?

I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies;—God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts; who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, [state

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

XV. -TO MR LAWRENCE.

LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire

The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

XVI.-TO CYRIACK SKINNER.

CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench

Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

Which others at their bar so often wrench; To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws;

Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

XVII.-TO THE SAME.

CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though

To outward view, of blemish or of spot, [clear,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;

Vor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?

The conscience, friend, to have lost them over

In liberty's defence, my noble task, [plied Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the

world's vain mask Content though blind, had I no better guide.

XVIII.-ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.

METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband

gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed

Purification in the old Law did save, [taint And such, as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint;Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined

So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But, 0, as to embrace me she inclined, (night. I waked; she fled; and day brought back my

END OF SONNETS.

ODES,

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King,
Of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light insufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside; and here with us to be,

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, [clay. And chose with us a darksome house of mortal

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain,
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now, while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,

« 上一頁繼續 »