 | Poems, Songs and Love-Verses |  |
On Clelia's Garden.
O Garden, unto me more blestThan the Elizian Fields, possest
By happy Lovers; and more Fair
Than the Hesper'an Orchards are,
Which all in Golden Metal shine,
With Boughs, and Leaves, and Fruit Divine;
Such Paradise it self might be,
In its first virent Purity;
On which the Heavens did then dispence
An incorrupted Influence.
Here grow no Dodan Oaks, nor Pines,
Nor Elm-inamour'd clasping Vines,
No Paphian Myrtle, nor the Bays,
Nor Lawrel binding Phœbus Rays:
No Cedar, nor the pleasant Palm,
No Poplar dropping precious Balm.
Such Ornaments are far too mean
In Clelia's Garden to be seen.
2
The Couslip, or the Violet.
No Dary, nor Narcissus grows,
No Tulip, nor the fragrant Rose,
No Marigold, nor running Vine,
Of the embracing Cullumbine.
Here is no Alabaster Font,
With Sea-green Tryton carved on't,
Nor yet Arion, to bestride
The sporting Dolphins watery side;
Nor Neptune riding on the main,
Whose Hand a Trident does sustain.
No Silver Stream here glides along,
Bearing the Goose, or Princely Swan;
Nor yet through pleasant Shades displays
Its murm'ring Streams a hundred ways.
Here's no Colossus to bestride
The fronting Walks from side to side:
Nor any Statues that surpass,
Of sollid Marble, or of Brass.
These and the like may such delight,
VVhose Eyes can't bare a better sight.
The Airy Nation sing not here,
But gladly lend a list'ning Ear.
The chattering Pye (if here) grows dumb,
And prating Parrats Note is done.
Domestick Robin nought can say,
Not does its chat avail the pay.
The Goldfinch, Linnet, and the Thrush,
Confine themselves unto their Bush;
3
They mute Pythagoreans are;
And Philomel is here affraid
Tereus with Incest to upbraid.
Now some, perchance, may ask me where
My Gardens excellencies are,
To which no other may compare?
I answer thus; The shady Trees,
Whose spreading branches some may please,
My Clelia's presence doth supply,
Who may with Art and Nature vie.
For when she please for to unfold
Her braided Tresses, to behold,
You'd guess it for a Grove of Gold;
But that her Eyes such Lustre make,
That any one may well mistake,
And think it Paradise, and she
The Guardian Angel of the Tree.
Upon her Princely Forehead, there
The the azure Veins so clear appear,
In such a rich composure set,
As far exceed the Violet.
But when she please for to disclose.
Her blushing Cheeks, the new blown Rose
For shame into its bud doth close,
Not once presuming for to vie,
With such a pure Vermillion Dye.
Her Skin so rare a White does show,
As may lend Beauty to the Snow.
4
To steal some whiteness from her Hand.
Her clasping Arms (O Charms Divine!)
Do far excel the Cullumbine;
VVithin whose close embraces are
Two Virgn Fonts, so lovely fair,
That every drop which flows from thence,
Such Sov'raign Vertue will dispence,
As might (if such a thing could be)
Cloath us with Immortality.
But when she please to touch her Lyre,
Or with her Voice our Souls Inspire,
The gen'ral Choire of Birds will be
Ravisht with such a Harmony.
The Angels too, that turn the Spheres,
VVou'd to her Anthems lend their Ears.
This is the Eden of my Pleasure,
The Indies of my choicest Treasure;
The Venus of my Love and State,
And the Sole Ruler of my Fate.
| Poems, Songs and Love-Verses | |