MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. Of heaven, that though the world hath done Some have too much, yet still they crave; his worst To put it out by discords most unkind, With God and man; nor ever will be forced And this note, madam, of your worthiness name Than all the gold that leaden minds can frame. SAMUEL DANIEL. MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. My minde to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I finde As farre exceeds all earthly blisse That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave. Content. I live; this is my stay I seek no more than may suffice. I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Loe, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plentie surfets oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toile, and keepe with feare; Such cares my mind could never beare. No princely pompe nor welthie store, No force to win the victorie, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover's eyeTo none of these I yeeld as thrall; For why, my mind despiseth all. 669 I little have, yet seek no more. They are but poore, though much they have And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another's losse, I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse; I brooke that is another's bane. I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is; I feare not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate; I breake no sleepe to winne my will; I wayte not at the mightie's gate. The court ne cart I like ne loath Extreames are counted worst of ali, The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; This is my choyce; for why, I finde No wealth is like a quiet minde. My wealth is health and perfect ease; Nor by desert to give offence. WILLIAM BY THE WINTER BEING OVER. THE winter being over, Which doth green herbs discover, Then comes the morning bright, Them that mourn, He therefore that sustaineth With complaint Therefore are to blame; For if they could with patience To unquietness, That only may be called The worst of all distress. He that is melancholy, Detesting all delight, His wits by sottish folly Are ruinated quite. TRIUMPHING chariots, statues, crowns of bays, Sky-threatening arches, the rewards of worth; Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious lays, Which men divine unto the world set forth; States which ambitious minds, in blood, do raise From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange; Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place, Rise up, and steps unknown to nature trace. ODE TO BEAUTY. A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, A vain delight our equals to command, Now all these careful sights That how to hope upon delights And, therefore, my sweet muse, Thou know'st what help is best; Do now thy heavenly cunning use To set my heart at rest. And in a dream bewray What fate shall be my friendWhether my life shall still decay, Or when my sorrow end. 671 NICHOLAS BRETE A SWEET PASTORAL. GOOD muse, rock me asleep With some sweet harmony! The weary eye is not to keep Thy wary company. Sweet love, begone awhile! Thou know'st my heaviness; Beauty is born but to beguile My heart of happiness. See how my little flock, Do headlong tumble down the rock, The bushes and the trees, That were so fresh and green, Do all their dainty color lease, And not a leaf is seen. Sweet Philomel, the bird The flowers have had a frost; Each herb hath lost her savor; And Phillida, the fair, hath lost The comfort of her favor. ODE TO BEAUTY. WHO gave thee, O beauty, Or what was the service Thy dangerous glances Lavish, lavish promiser, In thy momentary play, Would bankrupt nature to repay. Ah, what avails it To hide or to shun Whom the Infinite One Hath granted His throne! The heaven high over Is the deep's lover; Informed by thee, Before me run, And draw me on, As fate refuses To me the heart fate for me chooses. Is it that my opulent soul Was mingled from the generous whole; I hear the lofty pæans Thee gliding through the sea of form, Filling with thy roseate smell, Wilt not give the lips to taste Of the nectar which thou hast. All that's good and great with thee Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely To report thy features only, And the cold and purple morning, Itself with thoughts of thee adorning; The leafy dell, the city mart, Equal trophies of thine art; E'en the flowing azure air Thou hast touched for my despair: And, if I languish into dreams, KALPH WALDO EMERSON SONG. RARELY, rarely comest thou, Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day 'Tis since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like me Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false thou hast forgot All but those who heed thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; Even the signs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure: Thou wilt never come for pity Thou wilt come for pleasure. Like moonbeams, that behind some piny Keep with thy glorious train firm state with mountain shower, It visits with inconstant glance Each numan heart and countenance, Like hues and harmonies of evening, Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. in his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lover's eyes! Thou that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came! Depart not, lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality. |