ANNE, MARCHIONESS OF WHARTON

1632-1685

When the tempestuous sea did foam and roar,

Tossing the bark from the long-wish’d-for shore,

With false affected fondness it betray’d,

Striving to keep what perish’d, if it stay’d.

Such is the love of impious men, where’re

Their cruel kindness lights, ’tis to ensnare:

I, toss’d in tedious storms of troubled thought,

Was careless of the waves the ocean brought.

My anchor Hope was lost, and too too near

On either hand were rocks of sad despair,

Mistaken seamen prais’d my fearless mind,

Which, sunk in seas of grief, could dare the wind.

In Life, tempestuous Life, is dread and harm,

Approaching Death had no unpleasing form;

Approaching Death appeases ev’ry storm.

How hardly I conceal’d my tears!

How oft did I complain!

When many tedious days my fears

Told me I lov’d in vain.

But now my joys as mild are grown,

And hard to be conceal’d:

Sorrow may make a silent moan,

But joy will be reveal’d.

I tell it to the bleating flocks,

To every stream and tree,

And bless the hollow murmuring rocks,

For echoing back to me.

Thus you may see with how much joy

We want, we wish, believe;

’Tis hard such passion to destroy,

But easie to deceive.