Poems and translations amorous, lusory, morall, divine [collected and translated] by Edvvard Sherburne ...

THE SUN-RISE.

THou youthfull Goddess of the Morn! Whose Blush they in the East adore; Daughter of Phoebus! who before Thy all-enlightning Sire art born! Haste! and restore the day to me, That my Loves beautious Object I may see.

Too much of time the night devours, The Cocks shrill voice calls thee again; Then quickly mount thy golden Wain Drawn by the softly-sliding hours: And make apparent to all eyes With what Enamel thou dost paint the skies.

Leave thy old husband, let him lie Snorting upon his downy bed; And to content thy Lover, spread Thy Flames new lighted, through the sky; Heark how thy presence he conjures, As leading to the Woods his Hounds, he lures.

Moisten the fallow grounds before Thou com'st, with a sweet dewie rain; That thirstie Ceres having ta'ne Her Mornings draught, that day no more May call for drink; and we may see Spangled with pearlie drops each bush and tree.

Ah! now I see the sweetest dawn! Thrice welcome to my longing fight! Heil divine beautie! Heavenly light! I see thee through yon Cloud of Lawn Appear; and as thy star does glide, Blanching with raies the East on every side.

Dull silence, and the drowsie King Of sad and Meloncholie Dreams, Now flie before thy cheerful Beams, The darkest shadows vanquishing: The Owl, that all the night did keep A houting, now is fled and gone to sleep.

But all those little Birds, whose noats Sweetly the listning ear enthrall, To the clear waters murmuring fall, Accord their disagreeing throats, The lustre of that greater Star Praising, to which thou art but Harbinger.

'Bove our Horizon see him scale The first point of his brighter Round! O how the swarthie Aethiop's bound With reverence to his light to veil, And love the colour of his look, Which from a heat so mild, so pure he took.

A God perceivable is he By humane sense, Natures bright eye, Without whom all her works would die, Or in their births imperfect be: He Grace and Beautie gives alone, To all the Works of her Creation.

With holie Reverence inspir'd, When first the day renews it's light, The Earth, at so Divine a sight, Seems as if all on Altar fir'd, Reeking with Perfumes to the skies, Which she presents, her Native Sacrifice.

The humble Shepherd to his Raies, Having his Rustick Homage paid, And to some cool retired shade Driven his bleating Flocks to Graze; Sits down, delighted with the sight Of that great Lamp, so milde, so fair, so bright.

The Eagle in her Airy sitting Spreading her wings, with fixed eye Gazes on his, t'whose Deitie She yields all Adoration fitting: As to the only quickning fire, And Object that her eye does most desire.

The Salmon (which at Spring forsakes T••••tis sa••t Waves) to look on him; Upon the waters top doth swim: And to express the joy he takes, As sportingly along he sails, Mocks the poor Fisher with his silver Scales.

The Bee through flowrie Gardens goes Buzzing to drink the mornings tears; And from the early Lilly bears A kiss, commended to the Rose; And like a wary Messenger, Whispers some Amor••••s story in her ••ar.

At which, shee rowsing from her sleep, Her chaster Flames seems to declare To him again, (whil'st Dew her fair And blushing leaves in tears doth steep) The sorrow which her heart doth waste, That shee's so far from her dear Lover plac't.

And further seems, as if this plaint In her mute Dialect she made: "Alas! I shall with sorrow fade, "And pine away in this restraint, "Unless my too too rigorous Fate, "My Constant faithful Love commiserate.

"Love having gain'd the victory "Over my soul, there acts his harms, "Nor Thorns so many bear my Arms, "As in my heart now prickles be: "The onely Comfort I can give "My self, is this; I have not long to live.

"But if some courteous Virgin shall, "Pitying my Fate, pull my sweet flowre, "E're by a sad and fatal hour "My Honours fade away and fall; "I nothing more shall then desire, "But gladly without murmuring expire.

Peace sweetest Queen of Flowres! now see Sylvia, Queen of my Love, appear: Who for thy Comfort brings with her What will thy wishes satisfie; For her white hand intends to grace thee, And in her sweeter Brest, sweet flower to place thee.

FINIS.