Olor Iscanus A Collection of some Select Poems, and Translations, Formerly written by Mr. Henry Vaughan Silurist. Published by a Friend |
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Boet. Lib. 1. Metrum 1.
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 | Olor Iscanus |  |
Boet. Lib. 1. Metrum 1.
I whose first year flourish'd with youthfull verse,In slow, sad numbers now my griefe reherse;
A broken stile my sickly lines afford,
And only tears give weight unto my words;
Yet neither fate nor force my Muse cou'd fright
The only faithfull Comfort of my flight;
Thus what was once my green years greatest glorie,
Is now my Comfort, grown decay'd and hoarie,
For killing Cares th'Effects of age spurr'd on
That griefe might find a fitting Mansion;
O'r my young head runs an untimely gray,
And my loose skin shrinks at my blouds decay.
Happy the man whose death in prosp'rous years
Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears.
But O how deafe is she to hear the Crie
Of th'opprest Soule, or shut the weeping Eye!
While treacherous Fortune with slight honours fed
My first estate, she almost drown'd my head,
But now since (clouded thus) she hides those rayes,
Life adds unwelcom'd length unto my dayes;
Why then, my friends, Judg'd you my state so good?
He that may fall once, never firmly stood.
| Olor Iscanus | |