Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas Powel of Cant. Doctor of Divinity.
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 | Thalia Rediviva |  |
To his Learned Friend and Loyal Fellow-Prisoner, Thomas Powel of Cant. Doctor of Divinity.
If sever'd Friends by Sympathy can joyn,
And absent Kings be honour'd in their coin;
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.
And absent Kings be honour'd in their coin;
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,
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 call'd upon,
Are deaf, and feel no Invitation;
But such as at the last day shall be shed
By the great Lord of Life into the Dead.
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,
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 call'd upon,
Are deaf, and feel no Invitation;
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.
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 cold,
But as the Mary-gold in Feasts of Dew
And early Sun-beams, though but thin and few
Unfolds its self, then from the Earths cold breast
Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East:
So from thy quiet Cell, the retir'd Throne
Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan
Our sad distractions, come: and richly drest
With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest
Of loose, loath'd men! why should I longer be
Rack't 'twixt two Ev'ls? I see and cannot see.
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 cold,
But as the Mary-gold in Feasts of Dew
And early Sun-beams, though but thin and few
Unfolds its self, then from the Earths cold breast
Heaves gently, and salutes the hopeful East:
So from thy quiet Cell, the retir'd Throne
Of thy fair thoughts, which silently bemoan
Our sad distractions, come: and richly drest
With reverend mirth and manners, check the rest
Of loose, loath'd men! why should I longer be
Rack't 'twixt two Ev'ls? I see and cannot see.
| Thalia Rediviva | |