Such self-assurance need not fear the | The pledge of all your band? may The sacred ceremonies there partake, The which do endless matrimony make; And let the roaring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord, in lively notes, The whiles with hollow throats The choristers the joyous anthems sing, That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. Behold whiles she before the altar stands, Like crimson dyed in grain, Forget their service, and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair The more they on it stare; But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, Why blush ye, Love! to give to me your hand, Sing, ye sweet angels! Alleluia sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. UNA AND THE LION. ONE day, nigh weary of the irksome way, It fortunéd, out of the thickest wood, His bloody rage assuagéd with remorse, And, with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force. Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet, And licked her lily hands with fawning EDMUND SPENSER. THE HOUSE OF RICHES. THAT house's form within was rude and strong, Like an huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, From whose rough vault the ragged breaches hung Embossed with massy gold of glorious gift, And with rich metal loaded every rift, That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; And over them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net, Enwrapped in foul smoke and clouds more black than jet. Both roof, and floor, and walls, were all of gold, But overgrown with dust and old decay, And hid in darkness, that none could 9 So striving each the other to undermine, Each did the other's work more beautify; So differing both in wills, agreed in fine: ROBERT SOUTHWELL. [1560-1595.] CONTENT AND RICH. I DWELL in grace's courts, Faith guides my wit, love leads my will, In lowly vales I mount To pleasure's highest pitch, My conscience is my crown, Enough, I reckon wealth; That lies too high for base contempt, My wishes are but few, I make the limits of my power I have no hopes but one, I feel no care of coin, I clip high-climbing thoughts, Their fate is worst, that from the height Silk sails of largest size The storm doth soonest tear : I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear. I wrestle not with rage While fury's flame doth burn; It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth turn. But when the flame is out, And ebbing wrath doth end, I turn a late-enragéd foe Into a quiet friend; And, taught with often proof, Spare diet is my fare, My clothes more fit than fine; I know I feed and clothe a foe That, pampered, would repine. I envy not their hap Whom favor doth advance: I take no pleasure in their pain That have less happy chance. To rise by others' fall I deem a losing gain: All states with others' ruins built To ruins run amain. No change of fortune's calms Can cast my comforts down: When fortune smiles, I smile to think How quickly she will frown; And when, in froward mood, She proved an angry foe, Small gain I found to let her come, Less loss to let her go. ALEXANDER HUME. [About 1599.] A SUMMER'S DAY. THE time so tranquil is and clear, All trees and simples, great and small, The ships becalmed upon the seas, |