That ev'n judge Paris would not know And some (though these be of a kind that's rare, That's much, ah, much less frequent than the fair) So equally renown'd for virtue are, That it the mother of the Gods might pose, A woman Laureat to make, To be a princess, or a queen, Is great; but 't is a greatness always seen: Of female poets, who had names of old, Nothing is shown, but only told, Few minutes did their beauty's lightning waste, But that too soon was past. } The certain proofs of our Orinda's wit She does no partner with her see; Does all the business there alone, which we But wit's like a luxuriant vine; Unless to virtue's prop it join, Firm and erect towards heaven bound; Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crown'd, It lies, deform'd and rotting, on the ground. Who our own sex superior call ! Orinda does our boasting sex out-do, No violent passion could an entrance find } Through walls of stone those furious bullets may Force their impetuous way; When her soft breast they hit, powerless and dead they lay! The fame of Friendship, which so long had told A new and more surprising story, That he may come no stranger there: In this much different clime, for her remove HYMN TO LIGHT. FIRST-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smil'd; Thou tide of glory, which no rest dost know, Thou golden shower of a true Jove! [love! Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health! Her joy, her ornament, and wealth! Hail to thy husband Heat, and thee! [he! Thou the world's beauteous bride, the lusty bridegroom Say from what golden quivers of the sky Swiftness and power by birth are thine: From thy great sire they came, thy sire the Word Divine. "Tis, I believe, this archery to show, That so much cost in colours thou, And skill in painting, dost bestow, Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow. Swift as light thoughts their empty career run, Let a post-angel start with thee, And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he. Thou in the moon's bright chariot, proud and gay, Dost thy bright wood of stars survey; And all the year dost with thee bring Of thousand flowery lights thine own nocturnal spring. Thou, Scythian-like, dost round thy lands above And still, as thou in pomp dost go, The shining pageants of the world attend thy show. Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn And with those living spangles gild (O greatness without pride!) the bushes of the field. Night, and her ugly subjects, thou dost fright, And Sleep, the lazy owl of night; [sphere. They skreen their horrid shapes with the black hemi With them there hastes, and wildly takes th' alarm, Of painted dreams a busy swarm: At the first opening of thine eye The various clusters break, the antick atoms fly. The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts, Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way. At thy appearance, Grief itself is said To shake his wings, and rouse his head: A gentle beamy smile, reflected from thy look. At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold; |