Hail, bard triumphant! and some care bestow Opposed by our old enemy, adverse chance, Enchained by beauty, tortured by desires, Not that thy spirit might on me doubled be I ask but half thy mighty spirit for me; And when my muse soars with so strong a wing, "Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee, to sing. HYMN TO THE LIGHT FIRST-BORN of chaos, who so fair didst come From the old Negro's darksome womb! The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled! Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know, But ever ebb and ever flow! Thou golden shower of a true Jove Who does in thee descend, and Heaven to Earth make love! Hail, active Nature's watchful life and health! Her joy, her ornament, and wealth! Hail to thy husband, Heat, and thee! Thou the world's beauteous Bride, the lusty Bridegroom he. Say from what golden quivers of the sky Do all thy winged arrows fly? 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 Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright, And sleep, the lazy owl of night; Ashamed and fearful to appear, They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere. With them there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm Of painted dreams a busy swarm. At the first opening of thine eye The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly. The guilty serpents and obscener beasts Creep, conscious, to their secret rests; Ill omens and ill sights remove 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; Encouraged at the sight of thee, To the cheek colour comes, and firmness to the knee. Even Lust, the master of a hardened face, To darkness' curtain he retires, In sympathising night he rolls his smoky fires. When, goddess, thou lift'st up thy wakened head Thy quire of birds about thee play, And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day. The ghosts and monster-spirits that did presume A body's privilege to assume, Vanish again invisibly, And bodies gain again their visibility. All the world's bravery that delights our eyes, Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go'st. A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st, The virgin lilies in their white Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. The violet, Spring's little infant, stands Thou cloth'st it in a gay and parti-coloured coat. With flames condensed thou dost thy jewels fix, Flora herself envies to see Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. Ah goddess! would thou couldst thy hand withhold And be less liberal to gold; Didst thou less valuo to it give, Of how much care (alas!) might'st thou poor man relieve. To me the sun is more delightful far, And all fair days much fairer are. But few, ah, wondrous few there be Who do not gold prefer, O goddess, even to thee! Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea, Which open all their pores to thee; Like a clear river thou dost glide, And with thy living streams through the close channels slide. But where firm bodies thy free course oppose, Takes there possession, and does make, But the vast ocean of unbounded Day In the Empyrean Heaven does stay. Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow. RICHARD LOVELACE 1618-1658 TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS TELL me not, Sweet, I am unkind, Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind True; a new mistress now I chase, And with a stronger faith embrace |