A collection of miscellanies consisting of poems, essays, discourses, and letters occasionally written / by John Norris ...

The Parting.

I.

DEpart! The Sentence of the Damn'd I hear; Compendious grief, and black despair. I now believe the Schools with ease, (Tho once an happy Infidel) That should the sense no torment seize, Yet Pain of Loss alone would make a Hell.

II.

Take all, since me of this you Gods deprive, 'Tis hardly now worth while to live. Nought in exchange can grateful prove, No Second Friendship can be found To match my mourning Widow'd Love; Eden is lost, the rest's but common ground.

III.

Why are the greatest Blessings sent in vain, Which must be lost with greater pain?

Or why do we fondly admire The greatest good which life can boast? When Fate will have the Bliss expire, Like Life, with painful Agonies 'tis lost.

IV.

How fading are the Joves we dote upon, Like Apparitions seen and gone: But those which soonest take their flight, Are the most exquisite and strong. Like Angels visits, short and bright; Mortality's too weak to bear them long.

V.

No pleasure certainly is so divine As when two Souls in Love combine: He has the substance of all bliss, To whom a Vertuous Friend is given, So sweet harmonious Friendship is, Add but Eternity, you'll make it Heaven.

VI.

The Minutes in your conversation spent Were Festivals of true content. Here, here, an Ark of pleasing rest, My Soul had found that restless Dove, My present State methought was best, I envy'd none below, scarce those above.

VII.

But now the better part of me is gone, My Sun is set, my Turtle flown. Tho here and there of lesser bliss Some twinkling Stars give feeble light, Still there a mournful darkness is, They shine but just enough to shew 'tis night.

VIII.

Fatal divorce! What have I done amiss, To bear such misery as this? The World yields now no real good, All happiness is now become But painted and deluding food: As meer a Fiction as Elysium.

IX.

Well then, since nothing else can please my taste, I'll ruminate on pleasures past. So when with glorious Visions blest, The waking Hermit finds no theme That's grateful to his thoughtful breast, He sweetly recollects his pleasing Dream.