The poems of George Daniel ... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes |
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 | The poems of George Daniel |  |
209
The Induction to the worke.
Loe, this the Muse who variously did sing
And soar'd at Randome, with an Idle wing;
Told younger yeares the Passions of Love,
In broken Accents, as sick thoughts did prove;
First the disdaine, then sung the Solemne rites
To Himen's tryumph,—nuptiall delights.
Who now (transform'd) put on a Satyr's brow,
And touch't the vices which the Times did know.
Sometimes, with better Thoughts, has sung a storie,
In holy Rapture, of Cœlestiall glory;
Of worldly vanities, brought somewhat lower,
Has sung the beauties of devine Pudore;
His second Love, the Darling of his soule,
Charginge the waters Neighbouring as they roule,
To sound her Name vnto the After-times,
Least she might be forgotten in weake rimes;
Rimes far vnworthy to record her Name,
But they shall Live, & she surviue to Fame.
And soar'd at Randome, with an Idle wing;
Told younger yeares the Passions of Love,
In broken Accents, as sick thoughts did prove;
First the disdaine, then sung the Solemne rites
To Himen's tryumph,—nuptiall delights.
Who now (transform'd) put on a Satyr's brow,
And touch't the vices which the Times did know.
Sometimes, with better Thoughts, has sung a storie,
In holy Rapture, of Cœlestiall glory;
Of worldly vanities, brought somewhat lower,
Has sung the beauties of devine Pudore;
His second Love, the Darling of his soule,
Charginge the waters Neighbouring as they roule,
To sound her Name vnto the After-times,
Least she might be forgotten in weake rimes;
Rimes far vnworthy to record her Name,
But they shall Live, & she surviue to Fame.
210
Hath wept the Funeralls of Buckingham,
And Herbert's Death, with some of lower Name,
Recorded vertuous; & hath paid a verse
To Iohnson's vrne, & wept vpon his Herse;
Ioyn'd with the Muses, Strongly to defend
The force of Numbers; wth a select freind,
Worthy Amintas, in an easie strife;
This for the Citty, That a Country Life.
Lastly, (as Tribute) to Great Brittaine's King,
Did as his vertues, soe his Glories sing;
With his faire Queene, our hopes, their happie Ioyes;
In English Roses, and the French De-Liz.
Now fixeth here: and as a Pilgrim sent
A holy voyage, wh devout intent
I tread these Steps; & ere I fall to write
Am Ceis'd wh admiration and delight;
I am afraid of shadowes in the Land,
Where I a Pilgrim and a stranger stand;
I looke to this, & see, on th' other side,
A diverse way; alas, I want a Gvide!
The Morneing calls mee early from my Rest,
I see the sun, I fix vpon the East;
Yonder I thinke to goe to; but ere I,
A while haue gone, I am led diversly;
I wander with the sun, at Night return,
(With fruitles Labour) where I was at Morne.
And Herbert's Death, with some of lower Name,
Recorded vertuous; & hath paid a verse
To Iohnson's vrne, & wept vpon his Herse;
Ioyn'd with the Muses, Strongly to defend
The force of Numbers; wth a select freind,
Worthy Amintas, in an easie strife;
This for the Citty, That a Country Life.
Lastly, (as Tribute) to Great Brittaine's King,
Did as his vertues, soe his Glories sing;
With his faire Queene, our hopes, their happie Ioyes;
In English Roses, and the French De-Liz.
Now fixeth here: and as a Pilgrim sent
A holy voyage, wh devout intent
I tread these Steps; & ere I fall to write
Am Ceis'd wh admiration and delight;
I am afraid of shadowes in the Land,
Where I a Pilgrim and a stranger stand;
I looke to this, & see, on th' other side,
A diverse way; alas, I want a Gvide!
The Morneing calls mee early from my Rest,
I see the sun, I fix vpon the East;
Yonder I thinke to goe to; but ere I,
A while haue gone, I am led diversly;
I wander with the sun, at Night return,
(With fruitles Labour) where I was at Morne.
O Lead mee, Lord! in this soe anxious Maze,
Revert my feet into the perfect waies;
And be my Conduct in a Land Remote,
Where men are Monsters, People know mee not;
To the sweet Hills, the Hills of Solima',
Where the bright morneing doth her wings display;
Soe to the Holy Cittie, which doth now
(Ingratefull Citie) lye like ruines low;
To thy belovéd Sion, where of Old
Thy Prophets have their Revelations told;
Where Ishai's son did to thy Musique frame
Loud songs of Praise, to Celebrate thy Name;
Vnto the doore of that fal'n Temple which
His son erected, beautifiéd with rich
And curious workemanship; where that wise King,
(Wise in the Misterie of every Thing;
Who had tried all the waies to give content
Follye could prompt, or wisedome could Invent,)
Re-call'd Himselfe. O what, what haue I done?
What new thing is there to the King vnknowne?
What Mundane thing? What? but the King did trie,
Yet all is vanitie, meere vanitie.
Where Syrach's son, (a second Solomon
For teaching vertue & Instruction)
Did vtter these. Oh, thither bring mee once,
That I, with Ioy, may kisse the sacred stones,
That I may know to Render in our tongue
The Lessons which he to the Hebrewes sung;
Vnfold darke sayings, Hidden things recall
Vnto our Light, from the Originall.
Revert my feet into the perfect waies;
And be my Conduct in a Land Remote,
211
To the sweet Hills, the Hills of Solima',
Where the bright morneing doth her wings display;
Soe to the Holy Cittie, which doth now
(Ingratefull Citie) lye like ruines low;
To thy belovéd Sion, where of Old
Thy Prophets have their Revelations told;
Where Ishai's son did to thy Musique frame
Loud songs of Praise, to Celebrate thy Name;
Vnto the doore of that fal'n Temple which
His son erected, beautifiéd with rich
And curious workemanship; where that wise King,
(Wise in the Misterie of every Thing;
Who had tried all the waies to give content
Follye could prompt, or wisedome could Invent,)
Re-call'd Himselfe. O what, what haue I done?
What new thing is there to the King vnknowne?
What Mundane thing? What? but the King did trie,
Yet all is vanitie, meere vanitie.
Where Syrach's son, (a second Solomon
For teaching vertue & Instruction)
Did vtter these. Oh, thither bring mee once,
That I, with Ioy, may kisse the sacred stones,
That I may know to Render in our tongue
The Lessons which he to the Hebrewes sung;
Vnfold darke sayings, Hidden things recall
Vnto our Light, from the Originall.
Ah! deare, I faint: can only this vnsolve,
The sentences which wisedome doth involve?
Noe other way must I needs Syon see?
Lord, thou art Sion; thou art all to Mee!
Thou art all Language, every tongue is thine;
Shed in my Soule thy Rayes; a Heart Divine
Into my fancye, soe apt euerie word,
It may be vsefull, and with Truth accord.
Let my Imperfect Accents Strike the Eares
Of Men who scorne the Harmony of verse;
Let them confess that verse may Comprehend
Fullnes of Matter; and not, Madly Blind,
Persist in Error; that there cannot be
Those heights of Wisedome seene in Poesie;
Not that I seeke a Glory in the Thing;
Far be it from Mee, but that I may bring
More honour to thy Name. Oh, let mee Call
It noe more Mine, I would Resigne it all;
May I not thinke it, as the Thing I did
But as a Stranger, soe fall to & read;
Not looke vpon it wth the Partiall Eye
Of blind Affection or Proprietie;
Quash my Affections, & Subdue my thought,
That I may value all my owne as nought.
The sentences which wisedome doth involve?
212
Lord, thou art Sion; thou art all to Mee!
Thou art all Language, every tongue is thine;
Shed in my Soule thy Rayes; a Heart Divine
Into my fancye, soe apt euerie word,
It may be vsefull, and with Truth accord.
Let my Imperfect Accents Strike the Eares
Of Men who scorne the Harmony of verse;
Let them confess that verse may Comprehend
Fullnes of Matter; and not, Madly Blind,
Persist in Error; that there cannot be
Those heights of Wisedome seene in Poesie;
Not that I seeke a Glory in the Thing;
Far be it from Mee, but that I may bring
More honour to thy Name. Oh, let mee Call
It noe more Mine, I would Resigne it all;
May I not thinke it, as the Thing I did
But as a Stranger, soe fall to & read;
Not looke vpon it wth the Partiall Eye
Of blind Affection or Proprietie;
Quash my Affections, & Subdue my thought,
That I may value all my owne as nought.
Be it enough, 'tis done to Glorifie
Thy Name, & reinforme Posteritie
The way to Goodnes; I can aske noe more,
But lay an humble offering at the doore.
Thy Name, & reinforme Posteritie
The way to Goodnes; I can aske noe more,
But lay an humble offering at the doore.
Seale I my vowes then, and depart in Peace;
For though I vtter more, I might Speak less.
For though I vtter more, I might Speak less.
| The poems of George Daniel | |