96.-ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A THE Parrot, from East India to me sent, Such to the Parrot was the Turtle-dove. But what availed this faith? her rarest hue? Thou with thy quills mightst make greenemeralds dark, And pass our scarlet of red saffron's 1 mark; Envy hath rapt thee: no fierce wars thou mov'dst; 1 The safflower, or bastard saffron, cultivated in India and other countries for its red dye. Vain-babbling speech and pleasant peace thou lov'd'st. Behold, how Quails among their battles live! And Hector died, his brothers yet alive. My wench's vows for thee what should I show, Which stormy south winds into sea did blow? The seventh day came; none following mightst thou see; And the Fate's distaff empty stood to thee. 1 Jackdaw. 2 See Aristophanes (Birds)— "Old proverbs affirm That the final term Of a raven's life exceeds the space Of five generations of human race." Whence unclean fowls are said to be forbidden. The Parrot, into wood received with these A grave her bones hides: on her corpse' great grave The little stones these little verses have: "This tomb approves I pleased my mistress well; My mouth in speaking did all birds excel." C. MARLOWE 97.-EMPLOYMENT HE that is weary, let him sit; And trade in courtesies and wit, To cold complexions needing it. Man is no star, but a quick coal Who blows it not, nor doth control Lets his own ashes choke his soul. When the elements did for place contest Ordained the highest to be best, And by the others is opprest. 1 The peacock. Life is a business, not good cheer; The sun still shineth there or here; Watch an advantage to appear. O that I were an orange-tree, Then should I ever laden be, Some fruit for Him that dressed me. But we are still too young or old; Before we do our wares unfold; So we freeze on, Until the grave increase our cold. G. HERBERT 98.-LOVE'S DEATHBED SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part! Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 99. THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS WHEN I hear the waters fretting, When I see the chestnut letting All her lovely blossom falter down I think, "Alas the day!" Once with magical sweet singing Blackbirds set the woodland ringing, That awakes no more while April hours wear themselves away. In our hearts fair hope lay smiling, And there hung a mist of bluebells on the slope and down the dell ; And we talked of joy and splendour That the years unborn would render, And the blackbirds helped us with the story, for they knew it well. Piping, fluting, "Bees are humming, April's here, and Summer's coming; Don't forget us when you walk, a man with men, in pride and joy; Think on us in alleys shady, When you step a graceful lady; For no fairer day have we to hope for, little girl and boy. |