Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
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DIALOGUE II.
BRIDEGROOM.I am the Soul refreshing Sharon's Rose,
The Lillie which in Syrian's Valley grows;
As 'mongst a bush of Thorns and prickling Brier,
A spreading pale fac'd Lillie doth appear,
So 'mongst the Daughters looks my Well-belov'd.
BRIDE.
As in a barren Wood, the Apple Tree,
Deck'd with its gaudy Blossoms, so is he
Amongst the Sons of Men; with Joy I chose
Under his lasting Shadow to repose,
And whilst his luscious Fruit did bless my Taste,
I sat with Raptures at the kingly Feast.
At length, conducted by the mighty Jove,
Unto the House of Banqueting we move;
O there his Banner over me was Love.
Stay me with Flaggons, let the Apples prove
Comforting to me for I'm sick of Love:
But his left Hand lyeth underneath my Head,
When willing, tho' unable to bear up,
His right Hand, which the longing Soul doth feed,
Sustains me closs at Consolations Cup.
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If ye would lasting Fellowship maintain;
If my Enjoyments ye would always taste,
O be exceeding tender of your Guest.
I charge you by the Kids and tender Roes,
For who would be so cruel unto those,
As to disturb them of their soft Repose,
You don't presume to interrupt his Ease,
Or wake my sleeping Lord until he please:
To the cœlestial Melody give ear,
For this is my Beloved's Voice I hear.
Behold him skiping on the Mountains high,
Escaping o'er Hills swift as the Eagles fly:
O Saints behold him, by Experience know,
He's lovely as the Hart, or little am'rous Roe.
For tho' my draught of closs Communion's gone,
And I my dead deserted Case bemoan,
Yet from behind the Wall my Lord still looketh on.
Kind are the Blinks he from the Window gives,
He Love Epistles writes, and mine receives;
For tho' his vast Discoveries be remov'd,
He thro' the Lattise tells I'm still belov'd.
He's reconcil'd again, doth sweetly say,
Rise up my Love, my fair one come away;
For lo the Winter of Desertion's past,
Rains of Afflictions are dry'd up at last,
And I return to you with eager haste.
Choice flow'rs of Grace within thy Soul doth spring,
Zion's beautious Birds their chearfull Notes do sing;
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And ev'ry rav'nous Bird hath disappear'd.
My Vineyard, my Delight, my Joy, my Care,
(For all the Plants of Grace are nourish'd there)
Looks Fair and Fertile, O I love it well,
The chearing Vines send forth a fragrant Smell;
Each little Shrub the Planters Livry wears,
Loaden with Fruit the thriving Fig appears;
All these invite me, I'll no longer stay,
Rise up my Love, my fair one come away.
BRIDEGROOM.
My Dove, why do'st thou hide thy self from me
And to the Clifts of Rocks for Shelter flie?
Be not discourag'd, for I've heard thy Prayer
Sent from the secret Places of the Stair,
When Fear and Unbelief had tane you there.
Unvail that blushing Face which I do love,
O let me hear thy Voice, 'twill surely move;
I'll pour upon thee soft'ning show'rs of Grace:
Sweet is thy Voice and comely is thy Face.
And to the Clifts of Rocks for Shelter flie?
Be not discourag'd, for I've heard thy Prayer
Sent from the secret Places of the Stair,
When Fear and Unbelief had tane you there.
Unvail that blushing Face which I do love,
O let me hear thy Voice, 'twill surely move;
I'll pour upon thee soft'ning show'rs of Grace:
Sweet is thy Voice and comely is thy Face.
The little Foxes catch, let them be slain;
For they destroy the Stragglers of the Plain,
O'erturn ill rooted Vines, and these destroy;
And ev'ry tender Grape and Herb annoy:
Catch them, and kill them, whilst they're very young,
If once they ripen unto Age they're stronge,
With them my Vineyard's been oppress'd too long.
For they destroy the Stragglers of the Plain,
O'erturn ill rooted Vines, and these destroy;
And ev'ry tender Grape and Herb annoy:
Catch them, and kill them, whilst they're very young,
If once they ripen unto Age they're stronge,
With them my Vineyard's been oppress'd too long.
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Tho' no fresh Gales, no gentle Breezes blow,
No Dew distills, no Streams the Banks o'erflow,
My Unions solid; I'll rejoyce in this,
That my Beloved's mine, and I am his.
Can he be absent long, who loves so well,
It's in his Garden he delights to dwell;
It's there he prunes his Boughs, and sows his Seed,
It's 'mongst the Lillies he delights to Feed.
Until the dawning of the blessful Day,
That sable Train of Shadows fly away,
And Saints, broke through the Cage, aloft shall fly,
And meet and mingle with the Saints on high.
O with thy kind Embraces visit me,
I'm weary to be separate from thee:
Swift as the nimble Hart on Bethar goes,
Swift as on Bethar's Mountains skip the Roes,
So swiftly my Beloved, come to me,
Let me enjoy sweet Fellowship with thee.
| Streams from Helicon | |