The Poetical Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden ::

Rise from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace,
Vnto this world of ours O haste thy Race,
Faire Sunne, and though contrary-wayes all yeare
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest Spheare
Ioyne thy swift Wheeles, to hasten time that lowres,
And lazie Minutes turne in perfect Houres;
The Night and Death too long a league haue made,
To stow the world in Horrors vgly shade.
Shake from thy Lockes a Day with saffron Rayes
So faire, that it out shine all other dayes;
And yet doe not presume (great Eye of light)
To be that which this Day shall make so bright:
See, an eternall Sunne hastes to arise,
Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies,
Or any stranger Worlds Heauens Concaues haue,
But from the Darknesse of an hollow Graue:
And this is that all-powerfull Sunne aboue,
That crownd thy Browes with Rayes, first made thee moue.
Lights Trumpetters, yee neede not from your Bowres
Proclaime this Day, this the angelike Powres
Haue done for you; But now an opall hew
Bepaintes Heauens Christall, to the longing view
Earths late hid Colours glance, Light doth adorne
The World, and (weeping Ioy) foorth comes the Morne;
And with her, as from a Lethargicke Transe
Breath (com'd againe) that Bodie doth aduance,
Which two sad Nights in rocke lay coffin'd dead,
And with an iron Guard inuironed,
Life out of Death, Light out of Darknesse springs,
From a base Iaile foorth comes the King of kings;
What late was mortall, thrall'd to euery woe,
That lackeyes life, or vpon sence doth grow,

Immortall is, of an eternall Stampe,
Farre brighter beaming than the morning Lampe.
So from a blacke Ecclipse out-peeres the Sunne:
Such [when a huge of Dayes haue on her runne,
In a farre forest in the pearly East,
And shee her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest]
The lonlie Bird with youthfull Pennes and Combe,
Doth soare from out her Cradle and her Tombe:
So a Small seede that in the Earth lies hidde
And dies, reuiuing burstes her cloddie Side,
Adorn'd with yellow Lockes, of new is borne,
And doth become a Mother great with Corne;
Of Graines brings hundreths with it, which when old
Enrich the Furrowes with a Sea of Gold.

Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile,
That Hell dost ransacke, against Death preuaile,
O how thou long'd for comes! with Iubeling cries,
The all-triumphing Palladines of Skies
Salute thy rising; Earth would Ioyes no more
Beare, if thou rising didst them not restore:
A silly Tombe should not his flesh enclose,
Who did Heauens trembling Tarasses dispose;
No Monument should such a Iewell hold,
No Rocke, though Rubye, Diamond, and Gold.
Thou onely pittie didst vs, humane Race,
Bestowing on vs of thy free giuen Grace
More than wee forfaited and loosed first,
In Edens Rebell when wee were accurst.
Then Earth our portion was, Earths Ioyes but giuen,
Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with Heauen.
O what a hight of good vpon us streames
From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames!
When wee deseru'd shame, horrour, flames of wrath,
Thou bled our wounds, and suffer didst our Death;

But Fathers Iustice pleas'd, Hell, Death o'rcome,
In triumph now thou risest from thy Tombe,
With Glories which past Sorrowes contervaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile

Hence humble sense, and hence yee Guides of sense,
Wee now reach Heauen, your weake intelligence
And searching Pow'rs, were in a flash made dim,
To learne from all eternitie, that him
The Father bred, then that hee heere did come
(His Bearers Parent) in a Virgins Wombe;
But then when sold, betray'd, scourg'd, crown'd with Thorne,
Naill'd to a Tree, all breathlesse, bloodlesse, torne,
Entomb'd, him rising from a Graue to finde,
Confounds your Cunning, turnes like Moles you blinde.
Death, thou that heretofore still barren wast,
Nay, didst each other Birth eate vp and waste,
Imperious, hatefull, pittilesse, vniust,
Vnpartiall Equaller of all with dust,
Sterne Executioner of heauenly doome,
Made fruitfull, now Lifes Mother art become,
A sweete releife of cares, the Soule molest,
An Harbinger to Glory, Peace and Rest,
Put off thy mourning Weedes, yeeld all thy Gall
To daylie sinning Life, proud of thy fall,
Assemble thy Captiues; bid all hast to rise,
And euerie Corse in Earth-quakes where it lies,
Sound from each flowrie Graue, and rockie Iaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.

The World, that wanning late and faint did lie,
Applauding to our ioyes thy Victorie,
To a yong Prime essayes to turne againe,
And as ere soyl'd with Sinne yet to remaine,
Her chilling Agues shee beginnes to misse,

All Blisse returning with the Lord of Blisse.
With greater light Heauens Temples opened shine,
Mornes smiling rise, Euens blushing doe decline,
Cloudes dappled glister, boisterous Windes are calme,
Soft Zephires doe the Fields with sighes embalme,
In ammell blew the Sea hath husht his Roares,
And with enamour'd Curles doth kisse the Shoares.
All-bearing Earth, like a new-married Queene,
Her Beauties hightenes, in a Gowne of Greene
Perfumes the Aire, Her Meades are wrought with Flowres,
In colours various, figures, smelling, powres;
Trees wanton in the Groues with leauie Lockes,
Her Hilles empampred stand, the Vales, the Rockes
Ring Peales of ioy, her Floods her christall Brookes
(The Meadowes tongues) with many maz-like Crookes,
And whispering murmures, sound unto the Maine,
That Worlds pure Age returned is againe.
The honny People leaue their golden Bowres,
And innocently pray on budding Flowres;
In gloomy Shades, pearcht on the tender Sprayes,
The painted Singers fill the Aire with Layes:
Seas, Floods, Earth, Aire, all diuerslie doe sound,
Yet all their diuerse Notes haue but one ground,
Re-ecchoed here downe from Heauens azure Vaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.

O Day! on which Deathes Adamantine Chaine
The Lord did breake, ransacking Satans Raigne,
And in triumphing Pompe his Trophees rear'd,
Bee thou blest euer, hence-foorth still endear'd
With Name of his owne Day; the Law to Grace,

Types to their Substance yeelde, to Thee giue place
The olde New-Moones, with all festiuall Dayes,
And what aboue the rest deserueth praise
The reuerent Saboth; what could else they bee,
Than golden Heraulds, telling what by thee
Wee should enjoy? Shades past, now shine thou cleare,
And hence-foorth bee thou Empresse of the Yeare;
This Glorie of thy Sisters sex to winne,
From worke on thee, as other Dayes from sinne,
That Man-kind shall forbeare, in euerie place
The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race;
And farre beyond his Pathes in frozen Climes:
And may thou bee so blest to out-date Times,
That when Heauens Quire shall blaze in accents lowd,
The manie mercies of their soueraigne Good,
How hee on thee did sinne, Death, Hell destroy,
It may bee aye the Antheme of their Ioy.

University of Virginia Library

[ii] [An Hymne of the Resurrection.]