FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
'T was pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave;
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.

Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean,

And clean

From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still
To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,

Or rag'd to go,
Or show

A downcast look, and sour?

GEORGE HERBERT.

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart

Could have recovered greenness? It was

gone

Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown ;

Where they together,

All the hard weather,

REST.

WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "Let us," said he, "pour on him all we

can:

Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie, Contract into a span."

So strength first made a way;

known.

pleasure:

When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said he, "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature; So both should losers be.

"Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast."

and speak,

Yet stones are deep in admiration.
Thus praise and prayer here beneath the

sun

Make lesser mornings, when the great are done.

For each incloséd spirit is a star Inlightning his own little sphere, Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed from far,

Both mornings makes and evenings there.

But as these birds of light make a land glad,

Chirping their solemn matins on each tree;

So in the shades of night some dark fowls be,

Whose heavy notes make all that hear them sad.

The turtle then in palm-trees mourns,
While owls and satyrs howl;
The pleasant land to brimstone turns,
And all her streams grow foul.
Brightness and mirth, and love and faith,
all fly,

Till the day-spring breaks forth again from high.

THEY ARE ALL GONE.

THEY are all gone into the world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here!
Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest

After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy hope! and high humility, —
High as the heavens above!

showed them me

To kindle my cold love.

Dear, beauteous death, - the jewel of the just,

Shining nowhere but in the dark! What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know,

At first sight, if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in

now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,

And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there;

But when the hand that lockt her up gives room,

She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of
thrall

Into true liberty!

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill

My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill Where I shall need no glass.

GEORGE WITHER.

[1588-1667.]

FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED.

My sins and follies, Lord! by thee
From others hidden are,
That such good words are spoke of me,
As now and then I hear;

For sure if others knew me such,
Such as myself I know,

I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praised now.

The praise, therefore, which I have heard,
Delights not so my mind,
As those things make my heart afeard,
Which in myself I find:
And I had rather to be blamed,

So I were blameless made,
Than for much virtue to be famed,
When I no virtues had.

Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.

And when a virtuous man hath erred,
If praised himself he hear,
It makes him grieve, and more afeard,
Than if he slandered were.

Lord! therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appear to be
In any act of mine,

Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.

By her help I also now

Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten glad-

ness,

In the very gall of sadness.

The dull loneness, the black shade,
That these hanging vauits have made;
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;
This black den which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
thee;

Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to naught but earth are born,—
Let my life no longer be

Than I am in love with thee!

COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.

SHE doth tell me where to borrow Comfort in the midst of sorrow; Makes the desolatest place To her presence be a grace, And the blackest discontents Be her fairest ornaments. In my former days of bliss, Her divine skill taught me this, That from everything I saw I could some invention draw, And raise pleasure to her height, Through the meanest object's sight, By the murmur of a spring, Or the least bough's rustleing. By a daisy, whose leaves spread, Shut when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree, She could more infuse in me, Than all nature's beauties can In some other wiser man.

ANDREW MARVELL

[1620-1678.]

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays:
And their incessant labors see
Crowned from
some single herb or

tree, Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do close,

To weave the garlands of repose.