THE CORONET.

WHEN with the thorns with which I long, too

long,

With many a piercing wound,

My Saviour's head have crowned,

I seek with garlands to redress that wrong,-
Through every garden, every mead,
I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers)
Dismantling all the fragrant towers

That once adorned my shepherdess's head:
And now, when I have summed up all my store,
Thinking (so I myself deceive)

So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of Glory wore,
Alas! I find the Serpent old,

Twining in his speckled breast,

About the flowers disguised does fold,

With wreaths of fame and interest.

Ah foolish man, that would'st debase with them, And mortal glory, Heaven's diadem!

But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame,

Either his slippery knots at once untie,
And disentangle all his winding snare,
Or shatter too with him my curious frame,
And let these wither so that he may die,
Though set with skill, and chosen out with care,
That they, while thou on both their spoils dost
tread,

May crown thy feet, that could not crown thy head.

EYES AND TEARS.

How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same eyes to weep and see,
That, having viewed the object vain,
They might be ready to complain !
And, since the self-deluding sight,
In a false angle takes each height,
These tears, which better measure all,
Like watery lines and plummets fall.
Two tears, which sorrow long did weigh,
Within the scales of either eye,
And then paid out in equal poise,
Are the true price of all my joys.
What in the world most fair appears,
Yea, even laughter, turns to tears,
And all the jewels which we prize,
Melt in these pendants of the eyes.
I have through every garden been,
Amongst the red, the white, the green,
And yet from all those flowers I saw,
No honey, but these tears could draw.

So the all-seeing sun each day,
Distils the world with chymic ray,
But finds the essence only showers,
Which straight in pity back he pours.
Yet happy they whom grief doth bless,
That weep the more, and see the less,
And, to preserve their sight more true,
Bathe still their eyes in their own dew.
So Magdalen in tears more wise
Dissolved those captivating eyes,
Whose liquid chains could flowing meet
To fetter her Redeemer's feet.
Not full sails hasting loaden home,
Nor the chaste lady's pregnant womb,
Nor Cynthia teeming shows so fair
As two eyes swollen with weeping are.
The sparkling glance that shoots desire,
Drenched in these waves, does lose its fire,
Yea oft the Thunderer pity takes,
And here the hissing lightning slakes.
The incense was to heaven dear,
Not as a perfume, but a tear,
And stars shew lovely in the night,
But as they seem the tears of light.
Ope then, mine eyes, your double sluice,
And practise so your noblest use;
For others too can see, or sleep,

But only human eyes can weep.
Now, like two clouds dissolving, drop,
And at each tear, in distance stop;

Now, like two fountains, trickle down;
Now like two floods o'errun and drown:
Thus let your streams o'erflow your springs,
Till eyes and tears be the same things,
And each the other's difference bears,
These weeping eyes, those seeing tears.