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18   ANNE BRADSTEET.

When I behold the heavens as in their prime,
And then the earth (though old) still clad in green,
The stones and trees, insensible of time,
Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen;
If winter come, and greenness then do fade,
A Spring returns, and they more youthfull made;
But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.

By birth more noble than those creatures all,
Yet seems by nature and by custome cursed;
No sooner born, but grief and care make fall
That state obliterate he had at first.
Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again,
Nor habitations long their names retain,
But in oblivion to the final day remain.
      *      *       *        *         *
Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm,
Close sate I by a goodly river's side, 
Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm;
A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.
I once that loved the shady woods so well, 
Now thought the rivers did the trees excell,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell.

While on the stealing stream I fixt mine eye,
Which to the longed-for Ocean held its course,
I markt nor crooks nor rubs that there did lye
Could hinder aught, but still augment its force;
O happy Flood, quoth I, that holdst thy race
Till thou arrive at thy beloved place, 
Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.

Nor is't enough that thou alone mayst slide,
But hundred brooks in thy cleer waves do meet,
So hand in hand along with thee they glide
To Thetis' house, where all embrace and greet:


ANNE BRADSTREET   19

Thou Emblem true of what I count the best,
O could I lead my Rivulets to rest,
So may we press to that vast mansion, ever blest.

Ye Fish which in this liquid region 'bide,
That for each season have your habitation,
Now salt, now fresh, where you think best to glide,
To unknown coasts to give a visitation,
In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry,
So nature taught, and yet you know not why,
You watry folk that know not your felicity.

Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air,
Then to the colder bottome straight they dive,
Eftsoon to Neptune's glassie Hall repair
To see what trade the great ones there do drive,
Who forage o'er the spacious sea-green field,
And take the trembling prey before it yield,
Whose armour is their scales, their spreading fins their shield.

While musing thus with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet-tongued Philomel percht o'er my head,
And chanted forth a most melodious strain,
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,
I judged my hearing better than my sight,
And wisht me wings with her awhile to take my flight

O merry Bird (said I) that fears no snares,
That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy barn,
Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares
To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm;
Thy cloaths ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere,
Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water cleer, 
Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear.

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-26 16:10:51 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-26 17:06:24