CHILD

O Lady, lay your costly robes aside.

No longer may you glory in your pride.

MOTHER

Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear

Sad songs were made so long ago, my dear?

This day I am to be a bride, you know,

Why sing sad songs, were made so long ago?

CHILD

O mother, lay your costly robes aside,

For you may never be another's bride.

That line I learn'd not in the old sad song.

MOTHER

I pray thee, pretty one, now hold thy tongue,

Play with the bridemaids; and be glad, my boy,

For thou shalt be a second father's joy.

CHILD.

One father fondled me upon his knee.

One father is enough, alone, for me.

On a bank with roses shaded,

Whose sweet scent the violets aided,

Violets whose breath alone

Yields but feeble smell or none,

(Sweeter bed Jove ne'er reposed on

When his eyes Olympus closed on,)

While o'erhead six slaves did hold

Canopy of cloth o' gold,

And two more did music keep,

Which might Juno lull to sleep,

Oriana, who was queen

To the mighty Tamerlane,

That was lord of all the land

Between Thrace and Samarchand,

While the noontide fervor beam'd,

Mused himself to sleep, and dream'd.

Thus far, in magnific strain,

A young poet soothed his vein,

But he had nor prose nor numbers,

To express a princess' slumbers.—

Youthful Richard had strange fancies,

Was deep versed in old romances,

And could talk whole hours upon

The Great Cham and Prester John,—

Tell the field in which the Sophi

From the Tartar won a trophy—

What he read with such delight of,

Thought he could as eas'ly write of—

But his over-young invention

Kept not pace with brave intention.

Twenty suns did rise and set,

And he could no further get;

But, unable to proceed,

Made a virtue out of need,

And, his labors wiselier deem'd of,

Did omit what the queen dream'd of.

In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;

In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:

There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,

Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.

In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,

They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,

With singing and music to heighten the cheer;

Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare.

In a costly palace Youth is still carest

By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest;

In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails:

Does Age begin to prattle?—no man heark'neth to his tales.

In a costly palace if the child with a pin

Do but chance to prick a finger, straight the doctor is called in;

In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish

For want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish.

In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust;

In a wretched workhouse Age, in corners thrust,

Thinks upon the former days, when he was well to do,

Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too.

In a costly palace Youth his temples hides

With a new-devised peruke that reaches to his sides;

In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare,

With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air.

In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride,

To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side,

That none to do them injury may have pretence;

Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence.

By myself walking,

To myself talking,

When as I ruminate

On my untoward fate,

Scarcely seem I

Alone sufficiently,

Black thoughts continually

Crowding my privacy;

They come unbidden,

Like foes at a wedding,

Thrusting their faces

In better guests' places,

Peevish and malecontent,

Clownish, impertinent,

Dashing the merriment:

So in like fashions

Dim cogitations

Follow and haunt me,

Striving to daunt me,

In my heart festering,

In my ears whispering,

"Thy friends are treacherous,

Thy foes are dangerous,

Thy dreams ominous."

Fierce Anthropophagi,

Spectra, Diaboli,

What scared St. Anthony,

Hobgoblins, Lemures,

Dreams of Antipodes,

Night-riding Incubi,

Troubling the fantasy,

All dire illusions

Causing confusions;

Figments heretical,

Scruples fantastical,

Doubts diabolical;

Abaddon vexeth me,

Mahu perplexeth me,

Lucifer teareth me——

Jesu! Maria! liberate nos ab his diris tentationibus Inimici.

May the Babylonish curse

Straight confound my stammering verse,

If I can a passage see

In this word-perplexity,

Or a fit expression find,

Or a language to my mind,

(Still the phrase is wide or scant)

To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!

Or in any terms relate

Half my love, or half my hate:

For I hate, yet love, thee so,

That, whichever thing I show,

The plain truth will seem to be

A constrain'd hyperbole,

And the passion to proceed

More from a mistress than a weed.

Sooty retainer to the vine,

Bacchus' black servant, negro fine;

Sorcerer, that mak'st us dote upon

Thy begrimed complexion,

And, for thy pernicious sake,

More and greater oaths to break

Than reclaimèd lovers take

'Gainst women: thou thy siege dost lay

Much too in the female way,

While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath

Faster than kisses or than death.

Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,

That our worst foes cannot find us,

And ill-fortune, that would thwart us.

Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;

While each man, through thy height'ning steam,

Does like a smoking Etna seem,

And all about us does express

(Fancy and wit in richest dress)

A Sicilian fruitfulness.

Thou through such a mist dost show us,

That our best friends do not know us,

And, for those allowèd features,

Due to reasonable creatures,

Liken'st us to fell Chimeras,

Monsters that, who see us, fear us;

Worse than Cerberus or Geryon,

Or, who first loved a cloud, Ixion.

Bacchus we know, and we allow

His tipsy rites. But what art thou,

That but by reflex canst show

What his deity can do,

As the false Egyptian spell

Aped the true Hebrew miracle

Some few vapors thou may'st raise,

The weak brain may serve to amaze,

But to the reins and nobler heart

Canst nor life nor heat impart.

Brother of Bacchus, later born,

The old world was sure forlorn

Wanting thee, that aidest more

The god's victories than before

All his panthers, and the brawls

Of his piping Bacchanals.

These, as stale, we disallow,

Or judge of thee meant; only thou

His true Indian conquest art;

And, for ivy round his dart,

The reformèd god now weaves

A finer thyrsus of thy leaves.

Scent to match thy rich perfume

Chemic art did ne'er presume

Through her quaint alembic strain,

None so sov'reign to the brain.

Nature, that did in thee excel,

Framed again no second smell.

Roses, violets, but toys

For the smaller sort of boys,

Or for greener damsels meant;

Thou art the only manly scent.

Stinking'st of the stinking kind,

Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind,

Africa, that brags her foison,

Breeds no such prodigious poison,

Henbane, nightshade, both together,

Hemlock, aconite——

Nay, rather,

Plant divine, of rarest virtue;

Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.

'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee:

None e'er prosper'd who defamed thee;

Irony all, and feign'd abuse,

Such as perplex'd lovers use,

At a need, when, in despair

To paint forth their fairest fair,

Or in part but to express

That exceeding comeliness

Which their fancies doth so strike,

They borrow language of dislike;

And, instead of Dearest Miss,

Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,

And those forms of old admiring,

Call her Cockatrice and Siren,

Basilisk, and all that's evil,

Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, Devil,

Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,

Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;

Friendly Trait'ress, loving Foe,—

Not that she is truly so,

But no other way they know

A contentment to express,

Borders so upon excess,

That they do not rightly wot

Whether it be pain or not.

Or, as men, constrain'd to part

With what's nearest to their heart,

While their sorrow's at the height,

Lose discrimination quite,

And their hasty wrath let fall,

To appease their frantic gall,

On the darling thing whatever,

Whence they feel it death to sever,

Though it be, as they, perforce,

Guiltless of the sad divorce.

For I must (nor let it grieve thee,

Friendliest of plants, that I must) leave thee.

For thy sake, TOBACCO, I

Would do anything but die,

And but seek to extend my days

Long enough to sing thy praise.

But, as she, who once hath been

A king's consort, is a queen

Ever after, nor will bate

Any tittle of her state,

Though a widow, or divorced,

So I, from thy converse forced,

The old name and style retain,

A right Katherine of Spain;

And a seat, too,'mongst the joys

Of the blest Tobacco Boys;

Where, though I, by sour physician,

Am debarr'd the full fruition

Of thy favors, I may catch

Some collateral sweets, and snatch

Sidelong odors, that give life

Like glances from a neighbor's wife;

And still live in the by-places

And the suburbs of thy graces;

And in thy borders take delight,

An unconquer'd Canaanite.

Model of thy parent dear,

Serious infant worth a fear:

In thy unfaltering visage well

Picturing forth the son of TELL,

When on his forehead, firm and good,

Motionless mark, the apple stood;

Guileless traitor, rebel mild,

Convict unconscious, culprit child!

Gates that close with iron roar

Have been to thee thy nursery door;

Chains that chink in cheerless cells

Have been thy rattles and thy bells;

Walls contrived for giant sin

Have hemm'd thy faultless weakness in;

Near thy sinless bed black Guilt

Her discordant house hath built,

And fill'd it with her monstrous brood—

Sights, by thee not understood—

Sights of fear, and of distress,

That pass a harmless infant's guess

But the clouds, that overcast

Thy young morning, may not last;

Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour

That yields thee up to Nature's power:

Nature, that so late doth greet thee,

Shall in o'erflowing measure meet thee.

She shall recompense with cost

For every lesson thou hast lost.

Then wandering up thy sire's loved hill,[1]

Thou shalt take thy airy fill

Of health and pastime. Birds shall sing

For thy delight each May morning.

'Mid new-yean'd lambkins thou shalt play,

Hardly less a lamb than they.

Then thy prison's lengthen'd bound

Shall be the horizon skirting round:

And, while thou fillest thy lap with flowers,

To make amends for wintry hours,

The breeze, the sunshine, and the place,

Shall from thy tender brow efface

Each vestige of untimely care,

That sour restraint had graven there;

And on thy every look impress

A more excelling childishness.

So shall be thy days beguiled,

THORNTON HUNT, my favorite child.

The clouds are blackening, the storms threatening,

And ever the forest maketh a moan:

Billows are breaking, the damsel's heart acting,

Thus by herself she singeth alone,

Weeping right plenteously.

"The world is empty, the heart is dead surely,

In this world plainly all seemeth amiss:

To thy breast, holy one, take now thy little one,

I have had earnest of all earth's bliss,

Living right lovingly."

David and his three captains bold

Kept ambush once within a hold.

It was in Adullam's cave,

Nigh which no water they could have,

Nor spring, nor running brook was near

To quench the thirst that parch'd them there.

Then David, king of Israël,

Straight bethought him of a well,

Which stood beside the city gate,

At Bethlem; where, before his state

Of kingly dignity, he had

Oft drunk his fill, a shepherd lad;

But now his fierce Philistine foe

Encamp'd before it he does know.

Yet ne'er the less, with heat opprest,

Those three bold captains he addrest;

And wish'd that one to him would bring

Some water from his native spring.

His valiant captains instantly

To execute his will did fly.

The mighty Three the ranks broke through

Of armed foes, and water drew

For David, their beloved king,

At his own sweet native spring.

Back through their arm'd foes they haste,

With the hard-earn'd treasure graced.

But when the good king David found

What they had done, he on the ground

The water pour'd ... "Because," said he,

"That it was at the jeopardy

Of your three lives this thing ye did,

That I should drink it, God forbid."

Once on a charger there was laid,

And brought before a royal maid,

As price of attitude and grace,

A guiltless head, a holy face.

It was on Herod's natal day,

Who o'er Judea's land held sway.

He married his own brother's wife,

Wicked Herodias. She the life

Of John the Baptist long had sought,

Because he openly had taught

That she a life unlawful led,

Having her husband's brother wed.

This was he, that saintly John,

Who in the wilderness alone

Abiding, did for clothing wear

A garment made of camel's hair;

Honey and locusts were his food,

And he was most severely good.

He preachèd penitence and tears,

And waking first the sinner's fears,

Prepared a path, made smooth a way,

For his diviner Master's day.

Herod kept in princely state

His birthday. On his throne he sate,

After the feast, beholding her

Who danced with grace peculiar;

Fair Salome, who did excel

All in that land for dancing well.

The feastful monarch's heart was fired,

And whatsoe'er thing she desired,

Though half his kingdom it should be,

He in his pleasure swore that he

Would give the graceful Salome.

The damsel was Herodias' daughter:

She to the queen hastes, and besought her

To teach her what great gift to name.

Instructed by Herodias, came

The damsel back: to Herod said,

"Give me John the Baptist's head;

And in a charger let it be

Hither straightway brought to me."

Herod her suit would fain deny,

But for his oath's sake must comply.

When painters would by art express

Beauty in unloveliness,

Thee, Herodias' daughter, thee,

They fittest subject take to be.

They give thy form and features grace;

But ever in thy beauteous face

They show a steadfast cruel gaze,

An eye unpitying; and amaze

In all beholders deep they mark,

That thou betrayest not one spark

Of feeling for the ruthless deed,

That did thy praiseful dance succeed.

For on the head they make you look,

As if a sullen joy you took,

A cruel triumph, wicked pride,

That for your sport a saint had died.