No More Learning

And more attentive there doth sit
Than if she were with lime-twigs knit. .
No leaf does tremble in the wind.
Which I returning cannot find ;
Out of these scattered Sibyl's leaves,
Strange prophecies my fancy weaves,
And in one history consumes.
Like Mexique paintings, all the plumes ;



Digitized by VjOOQIC



OF MARVELL. 27

What Rome, Greece, Palestine, e'er said,

I in this light Mosaic read.

Thrice happy he, who, not mistook.

Hath read in nature's mystic book I

And see how chance's better wit sss

Could with a mask my studies hit !

The oak-leaves me embroider all.

Between which caterpillars crawl ;

And ivy, with familiar trails.

Me licks and clasps, and curls and hales. &»

Under this Attic cope I move.

Like some great prelate of the grove ;

Then, languishing with ease, I toss

On pallets swoln of velvet moss.

While the wind, cooling through the boughs, s»

Flatters with air my panting brows.

Thanks for my rest, ye mossy banks,

And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks.
Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed,

And winnow from the chaff my head ! ew

How safe, methinks, and strong behind
These trees, have I encamped my mind,
Where beauty, aiming at the heart,
Bends in some tree its useless dart.
And where the world no certain shot eos

Can make, or me it toucheth not,
But 1 on it securely play,
And gall its horsemen all the day.
Bind me, }e woodbines, in )*our twines,



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28 THE POEMS

Curl me about, ye gadding vines,

And oh so close your circles lace.

That I may never leave this place !

But, lest your fettei-s prove too weak,

Ere I your silken bondage break,

Do you, O brambles, chain me too,

And, courteous briars, nail me through !

Here in the morning tie my chain.

Where the two woods have made a lane,

While, like a guard on either side.

The trees before their Lord divide ;

This, like a long and equal thread,

BetAvixt two labyrinths does lead.

But, where the floods did lately drown,

There at the evening stake me down ;

For now the waves are fallen and dried,

And now the meadows fresher dyed,

Whose grass, with moister colour dashed.

Seems as green silks but newly washed.

No serpent new, nor crocodile,

Remains behind our little Nile,

Unless itself you will mistake,

Among these meads the only snake.

See in what wanton harmless folds.

It everywhere the meadow holds.

And its yet muddy back doth lick,

'Till as a crystal mirror slick.

Where all things gaze themselves, and doubt

If they be in it, or without.