Nor youth nor strength nor wisdom spring again, But in oblivion to the final day remain. 20 Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth, 21 Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm; I once that loved the shady woods so well, 135 140 145 Now thought the rivers did the trees excel, And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell. 22 While on the stealing stream I fixed mine eye, Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace! 23 "Nor is't enough that thou alone may'st slide, To Thetis's house, where all embrace and greet: So may we press to that vast mansion ever blest. 24 "Ye fish which in this liquid region bide, That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh, where you think best to glide, 150 155 160 165 In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry, So nature taught, and yet you know not why, 4. Neither bends nor obstructions. 5. A Greek divinity who lived in the depths of the sea. 25 "Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air, Then to the colder bottom straight they dive; To see what trade they great ones there do drive, And take the trembling prey before it yield, Whose armor is their scales, their spreading fins their shield.” 26 While musing thus with contemplation fed, And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, The sweet-tongued Philomel® perched o'er my head, Which rapt me so with wonder and delight, I judged my hearing better than my sight, And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight. 27 "O merry bird," said I, "that fears no snares, That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn, 170 175 180 Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares 185 To gain more good or shun what might thee harm; Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear; Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come doth fear. 28 “The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, So each one tunes his pretty instrument And warbling out the old, begin anew. And thus they pass their youth in summer season, 190 195 Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion." 29 Man at the best a creature frail and vain, In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak, Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain, From some of these he never finds cessation, But day or night, within, without, vexation, Troubles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near'st relation. 30 And yet this sinful creature, frail and vain, This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow, 6. The nightingale. Here, as often, the allusion is only poetic; the nightingale was not found in the American colonies. This weather-beaten vessel wracked with pain, Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation, In weight, in frequency and long duration, Can make him deeply groan for that divine translation. 31 The mariner that on smooth waves doth glide 32 So he that faileth in this world of pleasure, Feeding on sweets, that never bit of th' sour, Fond fool, he takes this earth ev'n for heaven's bower. Only above is found all with security. 33 O Time, the fatal wrack of mortal things, 210 215 220 225 Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not, Their parts, their ports, their pomp's all laid in th' dust, Nor wit nor gold nor buildings 'scape time's rust; But he whose name is graved in the white stone 1666? 230 1678 A Letter to Her Husband1 gone; Phoebus, make haste, the day's too long, be 9. Revelation ii: 17. 1. First published in the 1678 edition. There it is simply entitled "Another," following a short poem called "A Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Publick 5 Employment." These were among the If in thy swift carriers thou canst make stay, I crave this boon, this errand by the way: My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my brakish tears, Or all the grass that in the meads do stand, Or every mote that in the sunshine hops, O how they joy when thou dost light the skys. The Author to Her Book1 Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain, 3. I.e., "career," or "course." 4. This casual poem is one of Anne Bradstreet's most delightful and genuine. It recounts with humor her feelings at seeing her poems in print in 1650 without her authorization or correction, and her subsequent efforts to improve them. It appears that she intended this to stand last among her poems when she revised them about 1666 for a proposed second edition. Whoever sent the volume to the printer after her death added a subsequent section of thirteen "Posthumous Poems." 1666? Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true, Who thee abroad exposed to public view; Made thee in rags, halting, to the press to trudge, My rambling brat (in print) should mother call; Thy visage was so irksome in my sight; I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet, But nought save homespun cloth, in the house I find. Which caused her thus to send thee out of door. SAMUEL SEWALL (1652-1730) The New England Puritans were closely united by their common faith, but they produced the varied individualism of Bradford, John Eliot, the Mathers, and Jonathan Edwards, among others. Samuel Sewall represents a distinct type of the second and third generations, in which a more secular spirit gradually defeated the waning theocracy. Devoutly religious in private and public life, Sewall resisted an early religious vocation in favor of wealth, public office, and the pursuit of his hobbies. Shortly after his graduation from Har vard in 1671, he married Hannah, daughter of John Hull, Master of the Mint and reputed to be the wealthiest person in Massachusetts. His position was soon further strengthened by a small inheritance from his father. Sewall became an early example of the American aristocrat who regards public service as his natural expression. His father, avoiding the consequences of the Restoration of 1660, had brought him at the age of nine to Boston, and he seldom left it afterward. His Diary, for which he is best known, is a social his |