TO HIS BOOKS.
Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights,
The clear projections of discerning lights,
Burning and shining thoughts, man's posthume day,
The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way,
The dead alive and busy, the still voice
Of enlarg'd spirits, kind Heav'n's white decoys!
Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,
Which in commerce with light spend all their hours:
Which shut to clouds, and shadows nicely shun,
But with glad haste unveil to kiss the sun.
Beneath you, all is dark, and a dead night,
Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.
By sucking you, the wise—like bees—do grow
Healing and rich, though this they do most slow,
Because most choicely; for as great a store
Have we of books, as bees of herbs, or more:
And the great task, to try, then know, the good.
To discern weeds, and judge of wholesome food,
Is a rare, scant performance: for man dies
Oft ere 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flies.
But you were all choice flow'rs, all set and drest
By old sage florists, who well knew the best:
And I amidst you all am turned a weed!
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.
Then thank thyself, wild fool, that wouldst not be
Content to know—what was too much for thee!
LOOKING BACK.
Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage
And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars,
The days and nights of my first happy age;
An age without distaste and wars!
When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,
And mind those sacred midnight lights
By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds
Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights:
O then, how bright,
And quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
Chasing that shade,
Which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
How brave a prospect is a bright back-side!
Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye!
And days well spent like the glad East abide,
Whose morning-glories cannot die!
THE SHOWER.
Waters above! eternal springs!
The dew that silvers the Dove's wings!
O welcome, welcome to the sad!
Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad!
Many fair ev'nings, many flow'rs
Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers,
Have I enjoy'd, and down have run
Many a fine and shining sun;
But never, till this happy hour,
Was blest with such an evening-shower!