To Thee alone be praise, From whom our joy descends, Thou cheerer of our days, Of causes first, and last of ends: To Thee this May we sing, by whom Our roses from the lilies bloom. Upon this royal flower, Sprung from the chastest bed, Thy glorious sweetness shower; And first let myrtles crown his head, Then palms and laurels wreathed between: But let the cypress late be seen. And so succeeding men, When they the fulness see Of this our joy, shall then In consort join, as well as we, To celebrate His praise above That spreads our land with fruits of love. H. WOTTON. XI. AN ODE TO THE KING, AT HIS RETURNING FROM SCOTLAND TO THE QUEEN AFTER HIS CORONATION THERE.1 (1633.) OUSE up thyself, my gentle Muse, Though now our green conceits be grey, And yet once more do not refuse 1 "Rel. Wotton." Transcribed as Wotton's in MS. Tan. And now, though late, the modest rose H. W. XIII. A TRANSLATION OF THE CIV. PSALM TO THE ORIGINAL SENSE.1 Y soul, exalt the Lord with hymns of praise : M O Lord, my God, how boundless is Whose Throne of State is clothed with glorious rays, And fiery meteors their obedience show; 1 "Rel. Wotton." Where surging floods and valing ebbs can tell, That none beyond Thy marks must sink or swell. Who hath disposed, but Thou, the winding way, Where springs down from the steepy crags do beat, At which both fostered beasts their thirsts allay, The mounts are watered from Thy dwelling-place; rest; Nor shrubs alone feel Thy sufficing hand, So have the fowls their sundry seats to breed; The mining conies shroud in rocky cells: Thou mak'st the night to overveil the day: Then savage beasts creep from the silent wood; O Lord! when on Thy various works we look, To take thy Phrygian harp, and play Make first a song of joy and love, Long may he round about him see And kingdom's hopes so timely sown ; Long may they both contend to prove, H. W. 465, fol. 61, verso, and MS. Rawl. Poet. 147, p. 96. Erroneously inserted among Ben Jonson's "Works," vol. ix. p. 52, edit. Gifford. XII. ON A BANK AS I SAT A-FISHING. A DESCRIPTION OF THE SPRING.1 (Circ. 1638.) ND now all nature seemed in love; New juice did stir the embracing vines, There stood my friend, with patient skill, In Philomel's triumphing voice. The showers were short, the weather mild, "Rel. Wotton." Also as Wotton's in MS. Tann. 465, fol. 61, verso; in MS. Rawl. Poet. 147, p. 47; and in Walton's "Complete Angler," p. 78, edit. Nicolas, where it is said to have been written when Wotton was "beyond seventy years of age." He was born in 1568. |