M. Crashaw'S Answer For Hope.[58]

Dear Hope! Earth's dowry, and Heaun's debt! The entity of things that are not yet. Subtlest, but surest beeing! thou by whom Our nothing has a definition! Substantiall shade! whose sweet allay Blends both the noones of Night and Day: Fates cannot find out a capacity Of hurting thee. From thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn, Shrinkes, as the sick moon from the wholsome morn.

Rich hope! Loue's legacy, vnder lock Of Faith! still spending, and still growing stock! Our crown-land lyes aboue, yet each meal brings A seemly portion for the sonnes of kings. Nor will the virgin ioyes we wed Come lesse vnbroken to our bed, Because that from the bridall cheek of Blisse Thou steal'st vs down a distant kisse. Hope's chast stealth harmes no more Ioye's maidenhead Then spousal rites preiudge the marriage bed. Fair hope! Our earlyer Heau'n! by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity: Thy generous wine with age growes strong, not sowre, Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flowre. Thy golden, growing head neuer hangs down Till in the lappe of Loue's full noone It falls; and dyes! O no, it melts away As doth the dawn into the Day: As lumpes of sugar loose themselues, and twine Their subtile essence with the soul of wine.

Fortune? alas, aboue the World's low warres Hope walks; and kickes the curld heads of conspiring starres. Her keel cutts not the waues where these winds stirr, Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her. Her shafts and shee, fly farre above, And forage in the fields of light and love. Sweet Hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy! by thee We are not where nor what we be, But what and where we would be. Thus art thou Our absent presence, and our future now.

Faith's sister! nurse of fair desire! Fear's antidote! a wise and well-stay'd fire! Temper 'twixt chill Despair, and torrid Ioy! Queen regent in yonge Loue's minority! Though the vext chymick vainly chases His fugitiue gold through all her faces; Though Loue's more feirce, more fruitlesse, fires assay: One face more fugitiue then all they; True Hope's a glorious huntresse, and her chase, The God of Nature in the feilds of grace.

NOTES.

Various readings from 1646 edition.

Line 2, 'things' for 'those;' adopted. But in HARLEIAN MS. 6917-18, it is 'those.' As this MS. supplies in poems onward various excellent readings (e.g. 'Wishes'), it may be noted that the Collection came from Lord Somers' Library of MSS., and is accordingly authoritative.

Lines 5-6 read

'Faire cloud of fire, both shade and light Our life in death, our day in night.'

Our text (1652) seems finer and deeper, and to put the thought with more concinnity.

Line 9, 'thinne' for 'lean.'

" 10, 'like' for 'as.'

" 11, 'Rich hope' dropped in all the other editions; but as it is parallel with the 'dear Hope' and 'fair Hope' of the preceding and succeeding stanzas, I have restored the words. The line reads elsewhere,

'Thou art Love's Legacie under lock'

and the next,

'Of Faith: the steward of our growing stock.'

Line 13, 'crown-lands lye.'

" 18, 'Thou thus steal'st downe a distant kisse.'

" 19, 'Hope's chaste kisse wrongs.'...

" 24, 'Nor need wee.'...

" 25, 'growing' is dropped.

" 28, 'doth' for 'does;' adopted.

" 30, 'subtile' for 'supple;' adopted: but in HARLEIAN MS. as before, it is 'supple.'

Lines 31-32. This couplet is oddly misprinted in all the other editions,

'Fortune, alas, above the world's law warres, Hope kicks the curld'....

In 1670 there is a capital L to Law: but 'low' yields the evident meaning intended. Alas is = exclamation simply, not in our present limitation of it to sorrow. See Epitaph of HERRYS onward, lines 49-52.

Line 33, 'our' for 'these;' the latter necessary in its relation to 'low' not 'law,' the 'winds' being those of the 'warres' of our world.

Line 34, 'And Fate's' for 'Fortune's.'

" 35-36 dropped by our text (1652) inadvertently.

" 36, 'or' for 'nor.'

" 45, 'And' for 'Though.'

" 47, 'huntresse' for 'hunter;' adopted.

" 48, 'field' for 'fields.'

" 49. I prefer 'huntresse' of 1646, 1648 and 1670, to 'hunter' of our text (1652). G.

=Sacred Poetry.=

II.

AIRELLES.

FROM UNPUBLISHED MSS.

NOTE.

See our Preface for explanation of the title. 'Airelles' to these and other hitherto unprinted and unpublished Poems from the TANNER MSS. of Archbishop Sancroft: and our Essay for the biographic interest of the poems on the Gunpowder-Plot. I adhere strictly throughout to the orthography of the MS. G.

MARY SEEKING JESUS WHEN LOST.

St. Luke ii. 41-52: Quaerit Jesum suum Maria, &c. (v. 44.)

And is He gone, Whom these armes held but now? Their hope, their vow! Did euer greife and joy in one poore heart Soe soone change part? Hee's gone! The fair'st flower that e're bosome drest; My soule's sweet rest. My wombe's chast pride is gone, my heauen-borne boy; And where is joy? Hee's gone! and His lou'd steppes to wait vpon, My joy, is gone. My joyes, and Hee are gone; my greife, and I Alone must ly. Hee's gone! not leaving with me, till He come, One smile at home. Oh come then, bring Thy mother her lost joy: Oh come, sweet boy! Make hast, and come, or e're my greife and I Make hast, and dy. Peace, heart! The heauens are angry, all their spheres Rivall thy teares. I was mistaken, some faire sphere or other Was Thy blest mother. What but the fairest heauen, could owne the birth Of soe faire earth? Yet sure Thou did'st lodge heere: this wombe of mine Was once call'd Thine! Oft haue these armes Thy cradle envied, Beguil'd Thy bed. Oft to Thy easy eares hath this shrill tongue Trembled, and sung. Oft haue I wrapt Thy slumbers in soft aires, And stroak't Thy cares. Oft hath this hand those silken casements kept, While their sunnes slept. Oft haue my hungry kisses made Thine eyes Too early rise. Oft haue I spoild my kisses' daintiest diet, To spare Thy quiet. Oft from this breast to Thine, my loue-tost heart Hath leapt, to part. Oft my lost soule haue I bin glad to seeke On Thy soft cheeke. Oft haue these armes--alas!--show'd to these eyes Their now lost joyes. Dawne then to me, Thou morne of mine owne day, And lett heauen stay. Oh, would'st Thou heere still fixe Thy faire abode, My bosome God: What hinders, but my bosome still might be Thy heauen to Thee?

THE WOUNDS OF THE LORD JESUS.

IN CICATRICES DOMINI JESU.

Come braue soldjers, come and see Mighty Loue's artillery. This was the conquering dart; and loe There shines His quiuer, there His bow. These the passiue weapons are, That made great Loue, a man of warre. The quiver that He bore, did bide Soe neare, it prov'd His very side: In it there sate but one sole dart, A peircing one--His peirced heart. His weapons were nor steele, nor brasse, The weapon that He wore, He was. For bow His vnbent hand did serue, Well strung with many a broken nerue. Strange the quiver, bow and dart! A bloody side, and hand, and heart! But now the feild is wonne; and they (The dust of Warre cleane wip'd away) The weapons now of triumph be, That were before of Victorie.