Skip directly to:Main content Main navigation

University of Virginia Library

Dia Poemata

Poetick Feet Standing Upon Holy Ground: Or, Verses on certain Texts of Scripture. With Epigrams, &c. By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys]

Elys, Edmund (ca. 1634-ca. 1707)

collapse section

To my FRIEND, Mr. E. E. on his Divine Poems.

On the sacred Poems of my Ingenious Friend, Mr. E. E.

To his honest Cousin, E. E. on his Dia Poemata; or, his setting Feet on Holy ground.

To my Friend, the Author.

To his Honour'd Friend M. E. E. on his Incomparable Poems.

To Mr. E. E. on his DIA POEMATA.

To Mr. E. E. on his Book, &c.

To the Laurell worthy Mr. E. E. on his Excellent Poems.

To his most Deserving Friend, Mr. E. E. on his DIAPOEMATA.

collapse section

In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground.

Ad Encomiastas Authoris.

Κοσμος ακοσμος. All is Vanity and vexation of Spirit.

[How light is Man! by ev'ry wind]

[On me, my Friends, ô pity take!]

Lavatus Æthiops.

On Christmas day.

[I'm slave to grief (not mine own man)]

[To light hearts only such light mirth belongs]

[Rapt with Hot Zeale (Elias like) Blest Stephen]

[Of the Ten Leapers, Lord, the world claim's Nine]

[Oh Lord, shall we thy Glorious Body Eat?]

[Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I]

[My Lungs are worn with Groaning; often Moans]

[Ah! Shall my restlesse Mind for ever be]

[Thy Youthfull Heat should still Aspire]

In Obitum VITÆ. On the Death of JESUS.

[I've washt my feet, ev'n in the Bloud]

[Thrice happy Babes! wean'd from the world so soon]

BACK-SLIDING: OR, A Spirituall Relapse.

[Hold! hold! I will not do't: Shall I]

[Thrice Curst be Wanton Pleasure, Hell's Fine Daughter]

EPIGRAMS, &c. By E. E.

collapse section

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

[To light hearts only such light mirth belongs]

How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land? Psal. 137 4.

To light hearts only such light mirth belongs:
Our fortune weeping will allow no songs.
These rivets yield us the fitt'st musick: we
Account their murmures our best harmony:
In them the Embleme of our fate appears:
Their murmures show our groans, their streams our tears.
How shall we sing in a strange land? our tongues
Benumm'd with sorrow, are unfit for songs.
He profanes sacred melody, that dares
To sing in anguish, and mix Sighs with Ayres.
Our unregarded Harps hung up you see,
Like Trophees, to adorn griefs victory.

8

Our Ears so glutted with continuall Moans,
Can't relish th' Sweetnesse of such pleasant Tones.
Then Mirth farewell! our mournfull Gestures shall
Still solemnize our Countryes Funerall.
Whilst she, a Captive, lives a wofull Death,
We wo'nt, by Songs, let any Joy draw breath:
Unlesse once more that Queen of Cities Raigne,
Wee'l ne're lift up our Drooping Heads againe.