SEE with what simplicity

This nymph begins her golden days!

In the green grass she loves to lye,

And there with her fair aspect tames

The wilder flow'rs, and gives them names:

But only with the roses plays,

And them does tell

What colours best become them, and what smell.

Who can foretell for what high cause,
This darling of the Gods was born!
Yet this is she whose chaster laws
The wanton Love shall one day fear,

M M

And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.
Happy who can

Appease this virtuous enemy of man!

O then let me in time compound,
And parly with those conquering eyes;
Ere they have try'd their force to wound,
Ere with their glancing wheels, they drive
In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise.
Let me be laid,

Where I may see the glorys from some shade.

Mean time, whilst every verdant thing
Itself does at thy beauty charm,

Reform the errors of the spring:
Make that the tulips may have share
Of sweetness, seeing they are fair;
And roses of their thorns disarm:
But most procure,

That violets may a longer age endure.

But O, young beauty of the woods,
Whom Nature courts with fruits and flow'rs,
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;

Lest Flora, angry at thy crime

To kill her infants in their prime,

Should quickly make the example yours;
And ere we see,

Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.

BERMUDAS.

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride,
In the ocean's bosom unespied;
From a small boat, that row'd along,
The list'ning winds receiv'd this song.

What should we do but sing his praise,
That led us through the wat'ry maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?

Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks,
That lift the deep upon their backs.
He lands us on a grassy stage,

Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage.
He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels every thing;
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits thro' the air.

He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night;
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows.
He makes the figs our mouths to meet;
And throws the melons at our feet.
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice.
With cedars, chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas, that roar,
Proclaim the ambergrease on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple, where to sound his name.
Oh! let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault:
Which, thence (perhaps) rebounding, may,
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay.

Thus sung they, in the English boat,
An holy and a chearful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN.

THE wanton troopers riding by,
Have shot my fawn, and it will dye.
Ungentle men! they cannot thrive

Who kill'd thee. Thou ne'er didst alive

Them any harm: alas! nor cou'd
Thy death yet do them any good.
I'm sure I never wish'd them ill;
Nor do I for all this; nor will:
But, if my simple pray'rs may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears,
Rather than fail. But, O my fears!
Heaven's King

It cannot dye so.

Keeps register of every thing:

And nothing may we use in vain,
Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain;
Else men are made their deodands.

Though they should wash their guilty hands
In this warm life-blood, which doth part
From thine, and wound me to the heart,
Yet could they not be clean: their stain
Is dy'd in such a purple grain.

There is not such another in
The world to offer for their sin.
Inconstant Sylvio, when yet
I had not found him counterfeit,
One morning (I remember well)
Ty'd in this silver chain and bell,
Gave it to me: nay, and I know
What he said then: I'm sure I do.
Said he, "Look how your huntsman here
Hath taught a Fawn to hunt his Deer."
But Sylvio soon had me beguil'd:
This waxed tame, while he grew wild,
And quite regardless of my smart,
Left me his fawn, but took his Heart.
Thenceforth I set myself to play
My solitary time away,

With this: and, very well content,
Could so mine idle life have spent.
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game: it seem'd to bless
Itself in me. How could I less
Than love it? OI cannot be
Unkind t'a beast that loveth me.

Had it liv'd long, I do not know
Whether it too might have done so

As Sylvio did: his gifts might be
Perhaps as false, or more, than he.
For I am sure, for aught that I
Could in so short a time espy,
Thy love was far more better than
The love of false and cruel man.
With sweetest milk, and sugar first,
I it at mine own fingers nurs'd;
And as it grew, so every day

It wax'd more white and sweet than they.
It had so sweet a breath!

And oft

I blush'd to see its foot more soft,

And white, shall I say than my hand?
Nay, any lady's of the land.

It is a wondrous thing how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet.
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race;
And when't had left me far away,
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay.
For it was nimbler much than hinds;
And trod, as if on the four winds.
I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown,
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness:

And all the spring time of the year
It only loved to be there.
Among the beds of lilies I

Have sought it oft, where it should lye;
Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it, although before mine eyes;
For, in the flaxen lilies' shade,
It like a bank of lilies laid.
Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed;
And then to me 't would boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill;
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold.
Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without, roses within.