Part 60

Habington.

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So doth the swiftly turning wheel not stand I’ the instant we withdraw the moving hand, But some short time retains a faint, weak course, By virtue of the first impulsive force; And so, whilst I cast on thy funeral pile Thy crown of bays, oh let it crack awhile, And spit disdain, till the devouring flashes Suck all the moisture up, then turn to ashes.

Carew.

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Ah! thou hast left to live; and in the time When scarce thou blossom’dst in thy pleasant prime: So falls by northern blast a virgin rose, At half that doth her bashful bosom close; So a sweet flower languishing decays, That late did blush when kissed by Phœbus’ rays; So Phœbus mounting the meridian’s height, Choked by pale Phœbe faints unto our sight; Astonished Nature sullen stands to see The life of all this all so changed to be; In gloomy gowns the stars this loss deplore, The sea with murmuring mountains beats the shore.

Drummond.

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Death is the crown of life: Were death denied, poor men would live in vain; Were death denied, to live would not be life: Were death denied, even fools would wish to die.

Young.

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Death is the sea, and we like rivers flow To lose our selves in the insatiate maine, Whence rivers may, she ne’er returne againe. Nor grieve this christall streame so soone did fall Into the ocean; since shee perfumed all The banks she past, so that each neighbour field Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld, Which now adorne her herse.

Habington.

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We bore him to the grave while yet ’twas morn, The winter sunlight shining on his coffin: The weight of grief was heavy to be borne, And the salt tears rose in our eyelids often. We slowly walked in mutely sad procession; The pitying people freely made us way; And the blest child, yet guiltless of transgression, We softly placed between the walls of clay. We sang a hymn--we bowed our heads to pray; And GOD, who had our bitter grief appointed, Sent also strengthening grace by lips anointed. We looked again on George as low he lay Deep in the earth; and when we homeward went, We felt his home was better ’yond the firmament.

MacKellar.

MISTLETOE.... I climb to greatness.

The Mistletoe is a creeping plant which grows on the tops of the tallest trees. The proud oak is its slave, and nourishes it with his own substance. The Druids paid a kind of adoration to it, as the emblem of a weakness that was superior to strength: they regarded the tyrant of the oak as equally formidable to men and gods.

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’Tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder, Whereto the climber upwards turns his face: But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.

Shakspeare.

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He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

Byron.

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Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone.

Shakspeare.

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