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Sound sleep by night; study and ease
Together mix'd; sweet recreation;
And innocence, which most does please

With meditation.


Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.


The lament of David over Saul and Jonathan

The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places : how are the mighty fallen!

Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon; lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph.

Ye mountains of Gilboa! let there be no dew, neither let there be rain upon you, nor fields of offerings ; for there the shield of the mighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed with oil.

From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow of Jonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty.

Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided : they were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions.

Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights; who put on ornaments of gold upon your apparel.

How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle ! 0, Jonathan ! thou wast slain in thine high places.

I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.

How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished !


Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd phenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O carve not with thy hours my love fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.


To Sleep.

On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep,
Descend, in all thy downy plumage drest :
Wipe with thy wing these eyes that wake to weep,
And place thy crown of poppies on my breast.

O, steep my senses in oblivion's balm,
And sooth my throbbing pulse with lenient hand;
This tempest of my boiling blood becalm! -
Despair grows mild at thy supreme command.

Yet, ah! in vain familiar with the gloom,
And sadly toiling through the tedious night,
I seek sweet slumber, while that virgin bloom,
For ever hovering, haunts my wretched sight.

Nor would the dawning day my sorrows charm :
Black midnight, and the blaze of noon, alike
To me appear, while with uplifted arm
Death stands prepar'd, but still delays, to strike.


Ask me no more my truth to prove,
What I would suffer for my love :
With thee I would in exile go
To regions of eternal snow;

'er floods by solid ice confined;
Thro' forest bare with northern wind :

While all around my eyes I cast
Where all is wild and all is waste.
If there the timorous stag you chase,
Or rouse to fight a fiercer race,
Undaunted I thy arms would bear,
And give thy hand the hunter's spear.
Beneath the mountain's hollow brow,
Or in its rocky cells below,
Thy rural feast I would provide,
Nor envy palaces their pride.
The softest moss should dress thy bed,
With savage spoils about thee spread :
While faithful love the watch should keep
To banish danger from thy sleep.


O Nanny, wilt thou go with me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town : Can silent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and russet gown? No longer dress'd in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare, Say canst thou quit each courtly scene,

Where thou art fairest of the fair?

O Nanny! can’st thou love so true,

Through perils keen with me to go, Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of wo!

Say, should disease or pain befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,

And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay

Strew flow'rs, and drop the tender tear, Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?


Though frost and snow lock'd from mine eyes That beauty which without door lies, The gardens, orchards, walks, that so I might not all thy pleasures know; Yet, Saxham, thou, within thy gate, Art of thyself so delicate, So full of native sweets, that bless Thy roof with inward happiness ; As neither from, nor to thy store, Winter takes aught, or spring adds more. The stranger's welcome each man there Stamp'd on his cheerful brow doth wear; Nor doth this welcome, or his cheer, Grow less, 'cause he stays longer here. There's none observes, much less repines, How often this man sups or dines.


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