Poems of Henry Vaughan, Silurist Part 29

The diff'rence is great as the s.p.a.ce 'Twixt you and us, who blindly run After false fires, and leave the sun.

Is not fair Nature of herself Much richer than dull paint or pelf?

And are not streams at the spring-head More sweet than in carv'd stone or lead?

But fancy and some artist's tools Frame a religion for fools.

The truth, which once was plainly taught, With thorns and briars now is fraught.

Some part is with bold fables spotted, Some by strange comments wildly blotted; And Discord--old Corruption's crest-- With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.

So snow, which in its first descents A whiteness, like pure Heav'n, presents, When touch'd by man is quickly soil'd, And after, trodden down and spoil'd.

O lead me, where I may be free In truth and spirit to serve Thee!

Where undisturb'd I may converse With Thy great Self; and there rehea.r.s.e Thy gifts with thanks; and from Thy store, Who art all blessings, beg much more.

Give me the wisdom of the bee, And her unwearied industry!

That from the wild gourds of these days, I may extract health, and Thy praise, Who canst turn darkness into light, And in my weakness show Thy might.

Suffer me not in any want To seek refreshment from a plant Thou didst not set; since all must be Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from Thee.

'Tis not the garden, and the bow'rs, Nor sense and forms, that give to flow'rs Their wholesomeness, but Thy good will, Which truth and pureness purchase still.

Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence Thy kind and saving influence, And balm is no more to be had In all the coasts of Gilead; Go with me to the shade and cell, Where Thy best servants once did dwell.

There let me know Thy will, and see Exil'd Religion own'd by Thee; For Thou canst turn dark grots to halls, And make hills blossom like the vales; Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs, And fresh delights for all sad hours; Till from them, like a laden bee, I may fly home, and hive with Thee

TO CHRISTIAN RELIGION.

Farewell, thou true and tried reflection Of the still poor, and meek election: Farewell, soul's joy, the quick'ning health Of spirits, and their secret wealth!

Farewell, my morning-star, the bright And dawning looks of the True Light!

O blessed shiner, tell me whither Thou wilt be gone, when night comes. .h.i.ther!

A seer that observ'd thee in Thy course, and watch'd the growth of sin, Hath giv'n his judgment, and foretold, That westward hence thy course will hold; And when the day with us is done, There fix, and shine a glorious sun.

O hated shades and darkness! when You have got here the sway again, And like unwholesome fogs withstood The light, and blasted all that's good, Who shall the happy shepherds be, To watch the next nativity Of truth and brightness, and make way For the returning, rising day?

O what year will bring back our bliss?

Or who shall live, when G.o.d doth this?

Thou Rock of Ages! and the Rest Of all, that for Thee are oppress'd!

Send down the Spirit of Thy truth, That Spirit, which the tender youth, And first growths of Thy Spouse did spread Through all the world, from one small head!

Then if to blood we must resist, Let Thy mild Dove, and our High-Priest, Help us, when man proves false or frowns, To bear the Cross, and save our crowns.

O honour those that honour Thee!

Make babes to still the enemy!

And teach an infant of few days To perfect by his death Thy praise!

Let none defile what Thou didst wed, Nor tear the garland from her head!

But chaste and cheerful let her die, And precious in the Bridegroom's eye So to Thy glory and her praise, These last shall be her brightest days.

Revel[ation] chap. last, vers. 17.

"_The Spirit and the Bride say, Come._"

DAPHNIS.

_An Elegiac Eclogue. The Interlocutors, Damon, Menalcas._

_Damon._

What clouds, Menalcas, do oppress thy brow, Flow'rs in a sunshine never look so low?

Is Nisa still cold flint? or have thy lambs Met with the fox by straying from their dams?

_Menalcas._

Ah, Damon, no! my lambs are safe; and she Is kind, and much more white than they can be.

But what doth life when most serene afford Without a worm which gnaws her fairest gourd?

Our days of gladness are but short reliefs, Giv'n to reserve us for enduring griefs: So smiling calms close tempests breed, which break Like spoilers out, and kill our flocks when weak.

I heard last May--and May is still high Spring-- The pleasant Philomel her vespers sing.

The green wood glitter'd with the golden sun.

And all the west like silver shin'd; not one Black cloud; no rags, nor spots did stain The welkin's beauty; nothing frown'd like rain.

But ere night came, that scene of fine sights turn'd To fierce dark show'rs; the air with lightnings burn'd; The wood's sweet syren, rudely thus oppress'd, Gave to the storm her weak and weary breast.

I saw her next day on her last cold bed: And Daphnis so, just so is Daphnis, dead!

_Damon._

So violets, so doth the primrose, fall, At once the Spring's pride, and its funeral.

Such easy sweets get off still in their prime, And stay not here to wear the soil of time; While coa.r.s.er flow'rs, which none would miss, if past, To scorching Summers and cold Autumns last.

_Menalcas._

Souls need not time. The early forward things Are always fledg'd, and gladly use their wings.

Or else great parts, when injur'd, quit the crowd, To shine above still, not behind, the cloud.

And is't not just to leave those to the night That madly hate and persecute the light?

Who, doubly dark, all negroes do exceed, And inwardly are true black Moors indeed?

_Damon._

The punishment still manifests the sin, As outward signs show the disease within.

While worth oppress'd mounts to a n.o.bler height, And palm-like bravely overtops the weight.

So where swift Isca from our lofty hills With loud farewells descends, and foaming fills A wider channel, like some great port-vein With large rich streams to fill the humble plain: I saw an oak, whose stately height and shade, Projected far, a goodly shelter made; And from the top with thick diffused boughs In distant rounds grew like a wood-nymph's house.

Here many garlands won at roundel-lays Old shepherds hung up in those happy days With knots and girdles, the dear spoils and dress Of such bright maids as did true lovers bless.

And many times had old Amphion made His beauteous flock acquainted with this shade: His flock, whose fleeces were as smooth and white As those the welkin shows in moonshine night.

Here, when the careless world did sleep, have I In dark records and numbers n.o.bly high, The visions of our black, but brightest bard From old Amphion's mouth full often heard; With all those plagues poor shepherds since have known, And riddles more, which future time must own: While on his pipe young Hylas play'd, and made Music as solemn as the song and shade.

But the curs'd owner from the trembling top To the firm brink did all those branches lop; And in one hour what many years had bred, The pride and beauty of the plain, lay dead.

The undone swains in sad songs mourn'd their loss, While storms and cold winds did improve the cross; But nature, which--like virtue--scorns to yield, Brought new recruits and succours to the field; For by next spring the check'd sap wak'd from sleep, And upwards still to feel the sun did creep; Till at those wounds, the hated hewer made, There sprang a thicker and a fresher shade.

_Menalcas._

So thrives afflicted Truth, and so the light When put out gains a value from the night.

How glad are we, when but one twinkling star Peeps betwixt clouds more black than is our tar: And Providence was kind, that order'd this To the brave suff'rer should be solid bliss: Nor is it so till this short life be done, But goes hence with him, and is still his sun.

_Damon._

Come, shepherds, then, and with your greenest bays Refresh his dust, who lov'd your learned lays.