The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare IX. TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, X. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. Madam, methinks I see him living yet; XI. ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY A BOOK was writ of late, call'd Tetrachordon, Stand spelling false, while one might walk to MileEnd Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek, Hated not learning worse than toad or asp, [Greek. When thou taught'st Cambridge and king Edward XII. ON THE SAME. I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs Which after held the sun and moon in fee. But from that mark how far they rove we see XIII. TO MR. H. LAWES, ON HIS AIRS. HARRY, whose tuneful and well-measured song To after age thou shalt be writ the man, That with smooth air couldst humor best our tongue Thou honor'st verse, and verse must lend her wing To honor thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or story. Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing, Met in the milder shades of purgatory. XIV. ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHARINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, Deceased 16th Dec. 1646. WHEN faith and love, which parted from thee never, Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, call'd life; which us from life doth sever. Thy works and alms and all thy good endeavor Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But as faith pointed with her golden rod, Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss forever. Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. XV. TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Victory home, though new rebellions raise (For what can war but endless war still breed?) XVI. TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL. CROMWELL, Our chief of men, who through a cloud, Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, To peace and truth thy glorious way hast plough'd; And on the neck of crownéd fortune proud Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, No less renown'd than war: new foes arise XVII. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER. VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old, The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repell'd The drift of hollow states hard to be spell'd, Then to advise how war may best upheld, Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage; besides to know Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, What severs each, thou hast learn'd, which few have The bounds of either sword to thee we owe: [done. XVIII. ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Forget not: in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow XIX. ON HIS BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent |