Poetical Works of Edmund Waller and Sir John Denham. Edmund Waller

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       Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such,

       That none e'er thought her happiness too much;

       So well-inclined her favours to confer,

       And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her!

       The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,

       So well she acted in this span of life,

       That though few years (too flew, alas!) she told,

       She seem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.

       As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave

       Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave 30

       The smiling pendant which adorns her so,

       And until autumn on the bough should grow;

       So seem'd her youthful soul not eas'ly forced,

       Or from so fair, so sweet a seat divorced.

       Her fate at once did hasty seem and slow;

       At once too cruel, and unwilling too.

      THYRSIS.

      Under how hard a law are mortals born! 37

       Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn;

       What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize,

       Is soon removed from our wond'ring eyes!

       But since the Sisters[3] did so soon untwine

       So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line.

       Vouchsafe, sad nymph! to let me know the dame,

       And to the Muses I'll commend her name;

       Make the wide country echo to your moan,

       The list'ning trees and savage mountains groan.

       What rock's not movèd when the death is sung

       Of one so good, so lovely, and so young?

      GALATEA.

      'Twas Hamilton!—whom I had named before,

       But naming her, grief lets me say no more. 50

      [1] 'Galatea': the lady here mourned was the Duchess of Hamilton, a niece of Buckingham; she died in 1638. [2] 'Gloriana': Queen Henrietta. [3] 'Sisters': Parcæ—

ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE.[1]

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      Such was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame!

       The matchless Sidney, that immortal frame

       Of perfect beauty on two pillars placed,

       Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced

       With such extremes of excellence, compose;

       Wonders so distant in one face disclose!

       Such cheerful modesty, such humble state,

       Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate

       As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see 9

       Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.

       All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found,

       Amazed we see in this one garland bound.

       Had but this copy (which the artist took

       From the fair picture of that noble book)

       Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had jarr'd,

       And, rivals made, th'ensuing story marr'd.

       Just nature, first instructed by his thought,

       In his own house thus practised what he taught;

       This glorious piece transcends what he could think,

       So much his blood is nobler than his ink![2] 20

      [1] 'Dorothy Sidney': see Life for an account of 'Saccharissa.'

       [2] 'Philoclea and Dorus': the reader may turn for these names and their

       histories, to the glorious, flowery wilderness of the 'Arcadia.'

       Sidney was granduncle to Dorothy.

AT PENSHURST.

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      Had Dorothea lived when mortals made

       Choice of their deities, this sacred shade

       Had held an altar to her power, that gave

       The peace and glory which these alleys have;

       Embroider'd so with flowers where she stood,

       That it became a garden of a wood.

       Her presence has such more than human grace,

       That it can civilise the rudest place;

       And beauty too, and order, can impart,

       Where nature ne'er intended it, nor art. 10

       The plants acknowledge this, and her admire,

       No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre;

       If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,

       They round about her into arbours crowd;

       Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand,

       Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band.

       Amphion so made stones and timber leap

       Into fair figures from a confused heap;

       And in the symmetry of her parts is found

       A power like that of harmony in sound. 20

       Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame,

       That if together ye fed all one flame,

       It could not equalise the hundredth part

       Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart!

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