From th’hearts of men did banish black despaire.
7.
Euen as that morning starre that doth display
Her golden tresses in th’orientall skie,
Brings happie tidings of approching day
To them, that long in bed do restlesse lie,
Expecting comfort from the sun’s bright eye:
So our Eliza did blest tidings bring
Of ioy to those, whom sad distresse did sting.
8.