No More Learning

It is a wond'rous thing how fleet
Twas on those little silver feet ;
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race ;
And, when it had left me far away,
*Twould stay, and run again, and stay ;
For it was nimbler much than hinds.
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown,
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness.
And all the spring time of the year
It only loved to be there.



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OF MARVELL. 49

Among the beds of lilies I
Have sought it of^, where it should lie.
Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it, although before mine eyes ;,
For, in the flaxen lilies' shade.
It like a bank of lilies laid.
Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed,
And then to me 'twould boldly trip,.
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill,
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold :
Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without, roses within.

help ! O help ! I see it faint
And die as calmly as a saint !

See how it weeps !
the tears do come
Sad, slowly, dropping like a gum.
So weeps the wounded balsam ; so
The holy frankincense doth flow ;
The brotherless Heliades
Melt in such amber tears as these.

1 in a golden vial will

Keep these two crystal tears, and fill
It till it doth overflow with mine,
Then place it in Diana's shrine.
4



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50 THE P0KM6

Now my sweet fawn is vanish'd to
Whither the swans and turtles go ;
In fair Elysium to endure,
With milk-white lambs, and ermines pure.
O do not run too fast : for I
Will but bespeak thy grave, and die.

First, my unhappy statue shall
Be cut in marble ; and withal, t

Let it be weeping too ; but there
The engraver sure his art may spare ;
For I so truly thee bemoan,
That I shall weep, though I be stone,
Until my tears, still dropping, wear
My breast, themselves engraving there ;
Then at my feet shalt thou be laid,
Of purest alabaster made ;
For I would have thine image be
White as I can, though not as thee.



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OP MARVELL. 51



YOUNG LOVE.



Come, little infant, love me now,
While thine unsuspected years

Clear thine aged father's brow
From cold jealousy and fears.

II.
Pretty surely 'twere to see

By young Love old Time beguiled,
While our sportings are as free

As the nurse's with the child.

III.
Common beauties stay fifteen ;

Such as yours should swifter move,
Whose fair blossoms are too green

Yet for lust, but not for love.

iv.
Love as much the snowy lamb.

Or the wanton kid, does prize,
As the lusty bull or ram,

For his morning sacrifice.