Steps to the temple sacred poems, with other delights of the muses / by Richard Crashaw ...

Vpon the Death of Mr. Herrys.

A Plant of noble stemme, forward and faire, As ever whisper'd to the Morning Aire Thriv'd in these haphy Grounds, the Earth's just pride, Whose rising Glories made such haste to hide His head in Cloudes, as if in him alone Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time, and cheerfully to fly Before, and seize upon Maturity. Thus grew this gratious plant, in whose sweet shade The Sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit, and made The Morning Muses perch like Birds, and sing Among his Branches: yea, and vow'd to bring His owne delicious Phoenix from the blest Arabia, there to build her Virgin nest, To hatch her selfe in, 'mongst his leaves the Day Fresh from the Rosie East rejoyc't to play.

To them shee gave the first and fairest Beame That waited on her Birth▪ she gave to them The purest Pearles, that wept her Evening Death, The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a Breath By often kissing them, and now begun Glad Time to ripen expectation. The timourous Maiden-Blossomes on each Bough, Peept forth from their first blushes: so that now A Thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each Bud, And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in Delight, as if already there Those rare fruits dangled, whence the Golden Yeare His crowne expected, when (ô Fate, •• Time That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull Prime Hide his hot Beames in shade of silver Age; So rare is hoary vertue) the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore, Ravisht the Maiden Blossoms, and downe bore The trunke. Yet in this Ground his pretious Root Still lives, which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity, and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round, againe shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring, To be a shade for Angels while they sing, Meane while who e're thou art that ••assest here, O doe thou water it with one kind Teare.