Love, the Soul of Poetry

When first Alexis did in Verse delight,His Muse in Low, but Graceful Numbers walk't,And now and then a little Proudly stalk't;But never aim'd at any noble Flight:The Herds, the Groves, the gentle purling Streams,Adorn'd his Song, and were his highest Theams.

But Love these Thoughts, like Mists, did soon disperse,Enlarg'd his Fancy, and set free his Muse,Biding him more Illustrious Subjects choose;The Acts of Gods, and God-like Men reherse.From thence new Raptures did his Breast inspire,His scarce Warm-Heart converted was to Fire.

Th' exalted Poet rais'd by this new Flame,With Vigor flys, where late he crept along,And Acts Divine, in a Diviner Song,Commits to the eternal Trompe of Fame.And thus Alexis does prove Love to be,As the Worlds Soul, the Soul of Poetry.

Afflicted upon her Son, My Lord BERKELEY's Early Engaging in theSea-Service.

So the renown'd Ithacensian QueenIn Tears for her Telemachus was seen,When leaving Home, he did attempt the IreOf rageing Seas, to seek his absent Sire:Such bitter Sighs her tender Breast did rend;But had she known a God did him attend,And would with Glory bring him safe again,Bright Thoughts would then have dispossess't her Pain.

Ah Noblest Lady! You that her excelIn every Vertue, may in Prudence wellSuspend your Care; knowing what power befriendsYour Hopes, and what on Vertue still attends.In bloody Conflicts he will Armour find,In strongest Tempests he will rule the Wind,He will through Thousand Dangers force a way,And still Triumphant will his Charge convey.And the All-ruling power that can act thus,Will safe return your Dear Telemachus.

Alas, he was not born to live in Peace,Souls of his Temper were not made for Ease,Th'Ignoble only live secure from Harms,The Generous tempt, and seek out fierce Alarms.Huge Labours were for Hercules design'd,Jason, to fetch the Golden Fleece, enjoyn'd,The Minotaure by Noble Theseus dy'd,In vain were Valour, if it were not try'd,Should the admir'd and far-sought Diamond lye,As in its Bed, unpolisht to the Eye,It would be slighted like a common stone,It's Value would be small, its Glory none.But when't has pass'd the Wheel and Cutters hand,Then it is meet in Monarchs Crowns to stand.

Upon the Noble Object of your CareHeaven has bestow'd, of Worth, so large a share,That unastonisht none can him behold,Or credit all the Wonders of him told!When others, at his Years were turning o're,The Acts of Heroes that had liv'd before,Their Valour to excite, when time should fit,He then did Things, were Worthy to be writ!Stayd not for Time, his Courage that out-ranIn Actions, far before in Years, a Man.Two French Campagnes he boldly courted Fame,While his Face more the Maid, than Youth becameAdde then to these a Soul so truly Mild,Though more than Man, Obedient as a Child.And (ah) should one Small Isle all these confine,Vertues created through the World to shine?Heaven that forbids, and Madam so should you;Remember he but bravely does pursueHis Noble Fathers steps; with your own HandThen Gird his Armour on, like him he'll stand,His Countries Champion, and Worthy beOf your High Vertue, and his Memory.

The Sun's my Fire, when it does shine,The hollow Spring's my Cave of Wine,The Rocks and Woods afford me Meat;This Lamb and I on one Dish eat:The neighbouring Herds my Garments send,My Pallet the kind Earth doth lend:Excess and Grandure I decline,M'Associates onely are Divine.

HERODIAS Daughter presenting to her Mother St. JOHN's Head in aCharger, also Painted by her self.

Behold, dear Mother, who was late our Fear,Disarm'd and Harmless, I present you here;The Tongue ty'd up, that made all Jury quake,And which so often did our Greatness shake;No Terror sits upon his Awful Brow,Where Fierceness reign'd, there Calmness triumphs now;As Lovers use, he gazes on my Face,With Eyes that languish, as they sued for Grace;Wholly subdu'd by my Victorious Charms,See how his Head reposes in my Arms.Come, joyn then with me in my just Transport,Who thus have brought the Hermite to the Court.

On a Picture Painted by her self, representing two Nimphs ofDIANA's, one in a posture to Hunt, the other Batheing.

We are Diana's Virgin-Train,Descended of no Mortal Strain;Our Bows and Arrows are our Goods,Our Pallaces, the lofty Woods,The Hills and Dales, at early Morn,Resound and Eccho with our Horn;We chase the Hinde and Fallow-Deer,The Wolf and Boar both dread our Spear;In Swiftness we out-strip the Wind,An Eye and Thought we leave behind;We Fawns and Shaggy Satyrs awe;To Sylvan Pow'rs we give the Law:Whatever does provoke our Hate,Our Javelins strike, as sure as Fate;We Bathe in Springs, to cleanse the Soil,Contracted by our eager Toil;In which we shine like glittering Beams,Or Christal in the Christal Streams;Though Venus we transcend in Form,No wanton Flames our Bosomes warm!If you ask where such Wights do dwell, }In what Bless't Clime, that so excel? }The Poets onely that can tell. }

Of all the Poisons that the fruitful EarthE'er yet brought forth, or Monsters she gave Birth,Nought to Mankind has e'er so fatal been,As thou, accursed Gold, their Care and Sin.

Methinks I the Advent'rous Merchant see,Ploughing the faithless Seas, in search of thee,His dearest Wife and Children left behind,(His real Wealth) while he, a Slave to th' Wind,Sometimes becalm'd, the Shore with longing EyesWishes to see, and what he wishes, Spies:For a rude Tempest wakes him from his Dream,And Strands his Bark by a more sad Extream.Thus, hopless Wretch, is his whole Life-time spent,And though thrice Wreck't, 's no Wiser than he went.

Again, I see, the Heavenly Fair despis'd,A Hagg like Hell, with Gold, more highly priz'd;Mens Faith betray'd, their Prince and Country Sold,Their God deny'd, all for the Idol Gold.

Unhappy Wretch, who first found out the Oar,What kind of Vengeance rests for thee in store?If Nebats Son, that Israel led astray,Meet a severe Reward at the last Day?Some strange unheard-of Judgement thou wilt find,Who thus hast caus'd to Sin all Humane Kind.