The Golden Treasury. Various

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      2. SUMMONS TO LOVE.

       Phoebus, arise!

       And paint the sable skies

       With azure, white, and red:

       Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed

       That she may thy career with roses spread:

       The nightingales thy coming eachwhere sing:

       Make an eternal spring!

       Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;

       Spread forth thy golden hair

       In larger locks than thou wast wont before,

       And emperor-like decore

       With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:

       Chase hence the ugly night

       Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.

      —This is that happy morn,

       That day, long wishéd day

       Of all my life so dark,

       (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn

       And fates not hope betray),

       Which, purely white, deserves

       An everlasting diamond should it mark.

       This is the morn should bring unto this grove

       My Love, to hear and recompense my love.

       Fair King, who all preserves,

       But show thy blushing beams,

       And thou two sweeter eyes

       Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams

       Did once thy heart surprize.

       Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:

       If that ye winds would hear

       A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,

       Your furious chiding stay;

       Let Zephyr only breathe

       And with her tresses play.

      —The winds all silent are,

       And Phoebus in his chair

       Ensaffroning sea and air

       Makes vanish every star:

       Night like a drunkard reels

       Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:

       The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,

       The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue;

       Here is the pleasant place—

       And nothing wanting is, save She, alas.

       WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.