For Bryan he was tall and strong, Right blythesome roll'd his een ; Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung: He scant had twenty seen. But who the countless charms can draw, Her raven hair plays round her neck Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck, Soon as his well-known ship she spied, In sea-green silk so neatly clad She there impatient stood; Her hands a handkerchief display'd, Which he at parting gave; Her fair companions one and all And almost touch'd the land. Then through the white surf did she haste, When, ah! a shark bit through his waist: He shriek'd! his half sprang from the wave, And soon it found a living grave, And, ah! was seen no more. Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray, She falls, she swoons, she dies away, Now each May-morning round her tomb, So may your lovers 'scape his doom, Her helpless fate 'scape you! Grainger. LOYALTY CONFINED. BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; That innocence is tempest proof; Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm, That which the world miscalls a jail, Locks, bars, and solitude, together met, I, whilst I wish'd to be retir'd, The salamander should be burn'd: Or like those sophists that would drown a fish, I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish. The cynic loves his poverty; The pelican her wilderness; These manacles upon my arm I as my mistress' favours wear; And, for to keep my ancles warm, I have some iron shackles there: These walls are but my garrison; this cell, I'm in the cabinet lock'd up, Like some high-prized margarite, Here sin for want of food must starve, So he that struck at Jason's life, Thinking t' have made his purpose sure, By a malicious friendly knife, Did only wound him to a cure. Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant When once my prince affliction hath, I can learn patience from him: Now not to suffer, shows no loyal heart; When kings want ease, subjects must bear a part. What though I cannot see my king, Neither in person or in coin; Yet contemplation is a thing That renders what I have not mine: Have you not seen the nightingale, Even then her charming melody doth prove I am that bird, whom they combine And though immur'd, yet can I chirp, and sing My soul is free as ambient air, Although rebellion do my body bind, Sir R. L'Estrange. THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD. PRESERVE thy sighs, unthrifty girl! Thy tears, to thread, instead of pearl, The trumpet makes the echo hoarse, For I must go where lazy Peace But first I'll chide thy cruel theft: Can I in war delight, Who, being of my heart bereft, Thou know'st, the sacred laws of old |