The Glorious 17th Century
I'm sorry, it's a compulsion with me that frequent visitors to my other blog saw break out in unseemly times and places. However, I've had this poem pounding through my head, demanding to be let out and unleashed upon the world again. And so you, gentle readers, are the victims and/or beneficiaries of my private demons.
Ah, there now, the compulsion has somewhat eased--no "Upon Julia's Clothes" or "Upon Julia's Tears" or "Julia's Petticoats." No prize for the person who came name the author of these choice morsels--probably soon to be brought to you by one who truly loves the metaphysical and the cavalier poets.
The World
Henry Vaughn
- 1.
- I SAW Eternity the other night
- Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,
- All calm, as it was bright,
- And round beneath it, Time is hours, days, years
- Driven by the spheres
- Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the world
- And all her train were hurl'd;
- The doting lover in his quaintest strain
- Did there complain,
- Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
- Wit's sour delights,
- With gloves, and knots the silly snares of pleasure
- Yet his dear treasure
- All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour
- Upon a flower.
- 2.
- The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe
- Like a thick midnight fog mov'd there so slow
- He did nor stay, nor go;
- Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl
- Upon his soul,
- And clouds of crying witnesses without
- Pursued him with one shout.
- Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found
- Work'd under ground,
- Where he did clutch his prey, but one did see
- That policy,
- Churches and altars fed him, perjuries
- Were gnats and flies,
- It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he
- Drank them as free.
- 3.
- The fearful miser on a heap of rust
- Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust
- His own hands with the dust,
- But would not place one piece above, but lives
- In fear of thieves.
- Thousands there were as frantic as himself
- And hugg'd each one his pelf,
- The downright epicure plac'd heav'n in sense
- And scorn'd pretnece
- While others slipt into a wide excess
- Said little less;
- The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave
- Who think them brave,
- And poor, despised Truth sat counting by
- Their victory.
- 4.
- Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
- And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the Ring,
- But most would use no wing.
- O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night
- Before true light,
- To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day
- Because it shows the way,
- The way which from the dead and dark abode
- Leads up to God,
- A way where you might tread the Sun, and be
- More bright than he.
- But as I did their madness so discuss
- One whisper'd thus,
- "This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide
- But for his bride."
Ah, there now, the compulsion has somewhat eased--no "Upon Julia's Clothes" or "Upon Julia's Tears" or "Julia's Petticoats." No prize for the person who came name the author of these choice morsels--probably soon to be brought to you by one who truly loves the metaphysical and the cavalier poets.
Comments
Post a Comment