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The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves,
This black den, which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss :
The rude portals, that give light
More to terror than delight,
This my chamber of neglect,
Wall'd about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.

Therefore then, best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this!
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er Heav'n to mortals lent;
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee,
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to dought but earth are born ;
Let my life no longer be,
Than I am in love with thee!
Though our wise ones call it madness,
Let me never taste of gladness
If I love not thy maddest fits
Above all their greatest wits !
And though some, too seeming holy,
Do account thy raptures folly,
Thou dost teach me to contemn,
What makes knaves and fools of them!


SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are ?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in Day;

If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be ?

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind ?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature ?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican ;

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love ?
Or, her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own ?
Be she with that goodness blest,
Which may merit name of best ;

If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?


BORN 1591-DIED ABOUT 1662.

HERRICK was the son of a goldsmith in London. He studied at Cambridge, took orders, and obtained the living of Dean Prior in Devonshire, which he lost on the commencement of the civil wars. At the Restoration he was reappointed to his vicarage, but died soon afterwards. There is a sparkling Anacreontic gaiety in some of Herrick's lighter effusions which places him at the head of

a class of English lyrists. Of this deposed churchman Philips says, with quaintness

not the less amusing for the slight infusion of party bitterness, He was not particularly influenced by any nymph or goddess, except his Maid Prue, though he has occasionally shewn a pretty flowery and pastoral gale of fancy.”

GATHER the rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a flying ;
And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heav'n, the sun,

The higher he's a getting, The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best whi

is the first, When youth and blood are warmer ;

But being spent, the worse and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And, whilst ye may, go marry ; For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

THE NIGHTLY CHARM. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will o'th' Wisp mislight thee ;
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ;

But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber ;
What though the moon does slumber,

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me:

And when I shall meet

Thy silvery feet,
My soul I'll pour into thee.


Good morrow to the day so fair :

Good morning, sir, to you ;
Good morrow to mine own torn hair,

Bedabbled with the dew:

Good morning to this primrose too ;

Good morrow to each maid,
That will with flow'rs the tomb bestrew

Wherein my love is laid.

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I'll seek him there ; I know ere this

The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,

He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head,

And who do rudely move him.

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