 | Pharonnida |  |
The Stars cloath'd in the pride of light, had sent
Their sharp beams from the spangled firmament,
To silver ore the Earth, which being embost
With hills, seem'd now enamel'd ore with frost,
The keen winds whistle in the justling trees,
And cloath'd their naked limbs in hoary frees.
When having pac'd some miles of crusted earth,
Whose labor warm'd our blood, before the birth
O' th' sluggish morning from his bed had drawn
The early Villager, the sober dawn
Lending our eyes the slow salutes of light,
We are encountred with the welcom sight
Of some poor scatter'd Cottages that stood
In the dark shadow of a spacious wood
That fring'd an humble valley, toward those,
Whilst the still morn knew nought to discompose
Her sleepy infancy, we went, and now
Being come so near we might discover how
The unstir'd smoke stream'd from the Cottage tops,
A glim'ring light from a low window stops
Our further course, we're come to a low shed,
Whose happy honor (ne'r disquieted
With those domestick troubles that attend
On larger roofs) here in content did spend
Fortunes scant gifts, at his unhaunted gate
Hearing us knock, he stands not to debate
With wealthy misers slow suspition, but
Swift, as if 'twere a sin to keep it shut,
Removes that slender Guard; but when he there
Unusual Strangers saw, with such a care
As onely spoke a conscious shame to be
Surpris'd, whilst unprovided poverty
Straitned desire, he starts, yet entertains
Us so, that shew'd by an industrious pains
He strove to welcom more. Here being by
Their goodness, and our own necessity
Tempted a while to rest, we safely lay
Far from persuing ills, yet since the way
To danger by suspition lies, we still,
Fear being betray'd by those that meant no ill,
Since oft their busie whispers, though they spring
From love, and wonder, slow discoveries bring.
Their sharp beams from the spangled firmament,
To silver ore the Earth, which being embost
With hills, seem'd now enamel'd ore with frost,
The keen winds whistle in the justling trees,
And cloath'd their naked limbs in hoary frees.
When having pac'd some miles of crusted earth,
Whose labor warm'd our blood, before the birth
O' th' sluggish morning from his bed had drawn
The early Villager, the sober dawn
Lending our eyes the slow salutes of light,
We are encountred with the welcom sight
Of some poor scatter'd Cottages that stood
In the dark shadow of a spacious wood
That fring'd an humble valley, toward those,
Whilst the still morn knew nought to discompose
Her sleepy infancy, we went, and now
Being come so near we might discover how
79
A glim'ring light from a low window stops
Our further course, we're come to a low shed,
Whose happy honor (ne'r disquieted
With those domestick troubles that attend
On larger roofs) here in content did spend
Fortunes scant gifts, at his unhaunted gate
Hearing us knock, he stands not to debate
With wealthy misers slow suspition, but
Swift, as if 'twere a sin to keep it shut,
Removes that slender Guard; but when he there
Unusual Strangers saw, with such a care
As onely spoke a conscious shame to be
Surpris'd, whilst unprovided poverty
Straitned desire, he starts, yet entertains
Us so, that shew'd by an industrious pains
He strove to welcom more. Here being by
Their goodness, and our own necessity
Tempted a while to rest, we safely lay
Far from persuing ills, yet since the way
To danger by suspition lies, we still,
Fear being betray'd by those that meant no ill,
Since oft their busie whispers, though they spring
From love, and wonder, slow discoveries bring.
| Pharonnida | |