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Who can refuse thee company, or stay,
By thy next charming summons forc'd away,
If that be force which we can so resent,
That only in its joys 'tis violent:
Upwards thy Eagle bears us e're aware,
Till above storms and all tempestuous air
We radiant worlds with their bright people meet,
Leaving this little All beneath our feet.
But now the pleasure is too great to tell,
Nor have we other bus'ness than to dwell,
As on the hallow'd Mount th' apostles meant
To build and fix their glorious banishment.
Yet we must know and find thy skilfull vein
Shall gently bear us to our homes again ;
By which descent thy former flight's impli’d
To be thy extasie and not thy pride.
And here how well do's the wise Muse demeane
Her self, and fit her song to ev'ry scene!
Riot of Courts, the bloody wreaths of War,
Cheats of the mart, and clamours of the bar,
Nay, life it self thou dost so well express,
Its hollow ioyes, and real emptiness,
That Dorian minstrel never did excite,
Or raise for dying so much appetite.
Nor does thy other softer magick move
Us less thy fam'd Etesia to love;
Where such a character thou giv'st, that Shame
Nor Envy dare approach the vestal dame:
So at bright prime Idea's none repine,
They safely in th' eternal poet shine.
Gladly th’ Assyrian phænix now resumes
From thee this last reprisal of his plumes ;
He seems another more miraculous thing,
Brighter of crest, and stronger of his wing ;
Proofe against Fate in spicy urns to come,
Immortal past all risque of martyrdome.
Nor be concern’d, nor fancy thou art rude
T'adventure from thy Cambrian solitude:
Best from those lofty cliffs thy Muse does spring
Upwards, and boldly spreads her cherub-wing.
So when the sage of Memphis doth converse,
With boding skies, and th’ azure universe,
He climbs his starry pyramid, and thence
Freely sucks clean prophetique influence,
And all serene, and rap't and gay he pries
Through the ethereal volum's mysteries,
Loth to come down, or ever to know more
The Nile's luxurious, but dull foggy shore.
I. W. A. M. Oxon.'
TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND AND LOYAL
FELLOW-PRISONER, THOMAS POWEL
OF CANT. DOCTOR OF DIVINITY.'
0 F sever'd friends by sympathy can joyn,
| And absent kings be honour'd in their
May they do both, who are so curb'd! but we
Whom no such abstracts torture, that can see
And pay each other a full self-return,
May laugh, though all such metaphysics burn.
'Tis a kind soul in magnets, that attones?
Such two hard things as iron are and stones,
And in their dumb compliance we learn more
Of love, than ever books could speak before.
For though attraction hath got all the name,
As if that power but from one side came,
Which both unites; yet, where there is no sence,
See Essay, as before. Cant is = Cantreff. G. ? = reconciles. G.
There is no passion, nor intelligence :
And so by consequence we cannot state
A commerce, unless both we animate.
For senseless things, though ne’r so called upon,
Are deaf, and feel no invitation;
But such as the last day shall be shed
By the great Lord of Life into the dead,
'Tis then no heresie to end the strife With such rare doctrine as gives iron life.
For were it otherwise-- which cannot be, And do thou judge my bold philosophie ;Then it would follow that if I were dead, Thy love, as now in life, would in that bed Of earth and darkness, warm me, and dispense Effectual informing influence. Since then 'tis clear, that Friendship is nought
else But a joint, kind propension: and excess In none, but such whose equal, easie hearts Comply and meet both in their whole and parts: And when they cannot meet, do not forget To mingle souls, but secretly reflect And some third place their center make, where
they Silently mix, and make an unseen stay: Let me not say—though poets may be bold, — Thou art more hard than steel, than stones more