Love, the Soul of Poetry.
When first Alexis did in Verse delight, His Muse in Low, but Graceful Numbers walk't, And now and then a little Proudly stalk't; But never aim'd at any noble Flight: The Herds, the Groves, the gentle purling Streams, Adorn'd his Song, and were his highest Theams.
But Love these Thoughts, like Mists, did soon disperse, Enlarg'd his Fancy, and set free his Muse, Biding him more Illustrious Subjects choose; The Acts of Gods, and God-like Men reherse. From thence new Raptures did his Breast inspire, His scarce Warm-Heart converted was to Fire.
Th' exalted Poet rais'd by this new Flame, With Vigor flys, where late he crept along, And Acts Divine, in a Diviner Song, Commits to the eternal Trompe of Fame. And thus Alexis does prove Love to be, As the Worlds Soul, the Soul of Poetry.
To my Lady Berkeley,
Afflicted upon her Son, My Lord Berkeley's
Early Engaging in the Sea-Service.
So the renown'd Ithacensian Queen In Tears for her Telemachus was seen, When leaving Home, he did attempt the Ire Of rageing Seas, to seek his absent Sire: Such bitter Sighs her tender Breast did rend; But had she known a God did him attend, And would with Glory bring him safe again, Bright Thoughts would then have dispossess't her Pain.
Ah Noblest Lady! You that her excel In every Vertue, may in Prudence well Suspend your Care; knowing what power befriends Your Hopes, and what on Vertue still attends. In bloody Conflicts he will Armour find, In strongest Tempests he will rule the Wind, He will through Thousand Dangers force a way, And still Triumphant will his Charge convey. And the All-ruling power that can act thus, Will safe return your Dear Telemachus.
Alas, he was not born to live in Peace, Souls of his Temper were not made for Ease, Th'Ignoble only live secure from Harms, The Generous tempt, and seek out fierce Alarms. Huge Labours were for Hercules design'd, Jason, to fetch the Golden Fleece, enjoyn'd, The Minotaure by Noble Theseus dy'd, In vain were Valour, if it were not try'd, Should the admir'd and far-sought Diamond lye, As in its Bed, unpolisht to the Eye, It would be slighted like a common stone, It's Value would be small, its Glory none. But when't has pass'd the Wheel and Cutters hand, Then it is meet in Monarchs Crowns to stand.
Upon the Noble Object of your Care Heaven has bestow'd, of Worth, so large a share, That unastonisht none can him behold, Or credit all the Wonders of him told! When others, at his Years were turning o're, The Acts of Heroes that had liv'd before, Their Valour to excite, when time should fit, He then did Things, were Worthy to be writ! Stayd not for Time, his Courage that out-ran In Actions, far before in Years, a Man. Two French Campagnes he boldly courted Fame, While his Face more the Maid, than Youth became Adde then to these a Soul so truly Mild, Though more than Man, Obedient as a Child. And (ah) should one Small Isle all these confine, Vertues created through the World to shine? Heaven that forbids, and Madam so should you; Remember he but bravely does pursue His Noble Fathers steps; with your own Hand Then Gird his Armour on, like him he'll stand, His Countries Champion, and Worthy be Of your High Vertue, and his Memory.
St. John Baptist Painted by her self in the Wilderness,
with Angels appearing to him, and with a Lamb by him.
The Sun's my Fire, when it does shine, The hollow Spring's my Cave of Wine, The Rocks and Woods afford me Meat; This Lamb and I on one Dish eat: The neighbouring Herds my Garments send, My Pallet the kind Earth doth lend: Excess and Grandure I decline, M'Associates onely are Divine.
Herodias Daughter presenting to her Mother
St. John's Head in a Charger, also Painted by her self.
Behold, dear Mother, who was late our Fear, Disarm'd and Harmless, I present you here; The Tongue ty'd up, that made all Jury quake, And which so often did our Greatness shake; No Terror sits upon his Awful Brow, Where Fierceness reign'd, there Calmness triumphs now; As Lovers use, he gazes on my Face, With Eyes that languish, as they sued for Grace; Wholly subdu'd by my Victorious Charms, See how his Head reposes in my Arms. Come, joyn then with me in my just Transport, Who thus have brought the Hermite to the Court.
On a Picture Painted by her self,
representing two Nimphs of Diana's,
one in a posture to Hunt, the other Batheing.
We are Diana's Virgin-Train, Descended of no Mortal Strain; Our Bows and Arrows are our Goods, Our Pallaces, the lofty Woods, The Hills and Dales, at early Morn, Resound and Eccho with our Horn; We chase the Hinde and Fallow-Deer, The Wolf and Boar both dread our Spear; In Swiftness we out-strip the Wind, An Eye and Thought we leave behind; We Fawns and Shaggy Satyrs awe; To Sylvan Pow'rs we give the Law: Whatever does provoke our Hate, Our Javelins strike, as sure as Fate; We Bathe in Springs, to cleanse the Soil, Contracted by our eager Toil; In which we shine like glittering Beams, Or Christal in the Christal Streams; Though Venus we transcend in Form, No wanton Flames our Bosomes warm! } If you ask where such Wights do dwell, } In what Bless't Clime, that so excel? } The Poets onely that can tell.