The History of Polindor and Flostella With Other Poems. By I. H. [i.e. John Harington] The third Edition, Revised and much Enlarged |
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The Authors third Dream of FLOSTELLAS Evening Walk, and Voyce.
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 | The History of Polindor and Flostella |  |
The Authors third Dream of FLOSTELLAS Evening Walk, and Voyce.
Flostel and I (O, fondly'st-kind,Indulgent Stars! thus still you bind)
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Stole forth to taste the Garden ayr;
That sweet'st and mildest Age of Day,
When Sun does sprinkle kinder ray;
Nor breeds our head-ach, whilst Good-night
Sends from far West with drowsy light:
That and the Morne, those pauses sweet
'Tween th' Aguish fits of Cold and Heate.
Those harmlesse Gales were only straying,
Which dance the leaves with nicer playing,
Nor whisper, whilst, with kind of blisse,
May's Flowry beauteous Strangers kiss
In signe of welcome: dandling oft
Flostellas Curles, when us'd (me thought)
Reverence too, least, through their sin,
One curle disturb'd or spoild had been:
Th' Ayres Concave still'd to quiet rest,
Like Flostels gentle Mayden-brest.
Who, mask'd and vail'd (that else had soone
Turn'd th' Evening into glorious Noon)
Travers'd a gloomy Thicke, design'd
For Love maze, Labourinth, where inshrin'd
Th' Worlds Beauty appeard. Twas ambush plot
T'ore-heare the Nightingales small throat,
High, strong'st to boot (That, prais'd to be
The Shades prime Songster, harmony)
VVith rest oth' Noyse, who all begun,
As if to th' then departing Sun
Would chirp some merry shril Good-night,
And so long Sing as he gave Light.
VVhich heard (prime mirthfull jollity)
By both, with pleased Eare, drawn nigh:
Flostel puts into th' warbling Quire;
Faire Goddesse lo, which seemd t'inspire
Those little creatures with their skill;
Chanting her praise in Anthems still.
The ruder place seem'd (Chaos-wise)
Turn'd to some new drest Paradise,
Earth-Heaven, so well that Face and Tongue
Might to sweet Cherubins belong.
Gods (rapt with joy oth' recreation)
T'affaires divine held strait Vacation,
Breaking Heavens Parliament asunder,
To see, to heare this Mortall Wonder
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Some fate, enamourd shewing, Love-charm'd:
Consulting all her soon Translation
From this base Earth to th' starry station,
As their Quire's Mistress; female pow'rs
Whilst prais'd, or envi'd from their Tow'rs:
Wood-satyres skipping wildly round;
This masque at least my fancy found.
Lo th' All of Rapture, sweets how high!
Best Ioyes the eares capacity
Could reach to, only those above,
The deare Soule melting Sounds of Love.
Her Lute was rare, though dead the sound;
This Living, therefore rather crown'd:
That, was but hollow Timbers noise,
This, sweet, warme, lovely Womans voice:
Religion sway'd, else I had nye
Been guilty of Voice-idolatry.
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