Classic Poem

Amidst the azure cleare
Of Iordan's sacred streames,
Iordan of Libanon the of-spring deare,
When zephire's flowers vnclose,
And sunne shines with new beames,
With graue and stately grace a nimphe arose.
Vpon her head she ware
Of amaranthes a crowne,
Her left hand palmes, her right a brandon bare,
Vnvail'd skinne's whitenesse lay,
Gold haires in curles hang downe,
Eyes sparkled ioy, more bright than starre of day.
The flood a throne her rear'd
Of waues, most like that heauen
Where beaming starres in glorie turne ensphear'd;
The aire stood calme and cleare,
No sigh by windes was giuen,
Birdes left to sing, heards feed, her voyce to heare.
World-wand'ring sorrie wights,
Whom nothing can content
Within those varying listes of dayes and nights,
Whose life, ere knowne amisse,
In glittering griefes is spent,
Come learne, said shee, what is your choisest blisse;
From toyle and pressing cares
How yee may respit finde,
A sanctuarie from soule-thralling snares,
A port to harboure sure
In spight of waues and winde,
Which shall, when time's houre-glasse is runne, endure.
Not happie is that life
Which yee as happie hold,
No, but a sea of feares, a field of strife,
Charg'd on a throne to sit
With diadems of gold,
Preseru'd by force, and still obseru'd by wit;
Huge treasures to enioy,
Of all her gemmes spoyle Inde,
All Seres' silke in garments to imploy,
Deliciously to feed,
The Phenix' plumes to finde
To rest vpon, or decke your purple bed;
Fraile beautie to abuse,
And, wanton Sybarites,
On past or present touch of sense to muse;
Neuer to heare of noise
But what the eare delites,
Sweet musick's charmes, or charming flatterer's voice.
Nor can it blisse you bring,
Hidde nature's depthes to know,
Why matter changeth, whence each forme doth spring;
Nor that your fame should range,
And after-worlds it blow
From Tanäis to Nile, from Nile to Gange.
All these haue not the powre
To free the minde from feares,
Nor hiddeous horror can allay one howre,
When death in steele doth glance,
In sicknesse lurke or yeares,
And wakes the soule from out her mortall trance.
No, but blest life is this,
With chaste and pure desire,
To turne vnto the load-starre of all blisse,
On God the minde to rest,
Burnt vp with sacred fire,
Possessing him, to bee by him possest.
When to the baulmie east
Sunne doth his light impart,
Or when hee diueth in the lowlie west,
And rauisheth the day,
With spotlesse hands and hart
Him chearefully to praise, and to him pray;
To heed each action so,
As euer in his sight,
More fearing doing ill than passiue woe;
Not to seeme other thing
Than what yee are aright,
Neuer to doe what may repentance bring;
Not to bee blowne with pride,
Nor mou'd at glorie's breath,
Which shadow-like on wings of time doth glide;
So malice to disarme,
And conquere hastie wrath,
As to doe good to those that worke your harme;
To hatch no base desires,
Or gold or land to gaine,
Well pleas'd with what by vertue one acquires;
To haue the wit and will
Consorting in one straine,
Than what is good to haue no higher skill;
Neuer on neighbour's well
With cocatrice's eye
To looke, and make an other's heauen your hell;
Not to be beautie's thrall,
All fruitlesse loue to flie,
Yet louing still a loue transcending all;
A loue which, while it burnes
The soule with fairest beames,
In that vncreated sunne the soule it turnes,
And makes such beautie proue,
That, if sense saw her gleames,
All lookers on would pine and die for loue.
Who such a life doth liue,
Yee happie euen may call,
Ere ruthlesse death a wished end him giue,
And after then when giuen,
More happie by his fall,
For humanes, earth, enioying angels, heauen.
Swift is your mortall race,
And glassie is the field,
Vaste are desires not limited by grace,
Life a weake tapper is;
Then, while it light doth yeeld,
Leaue flying ioyes, embrace this lasting blisse.
This when the nimph had said,
Shee diu'd within the flood,
Whose face with smyling curles long after staid:
Then sighes did zephyres presse,
Birdes sang from euery wood,
And ecchoes rang, This was true happinesse.