the dire monument of thy black roome,
Wher now that
vestal flame thou dost intombe,
As in the inmost cell
of all earths wombe.
Sacred Lucasta, like
the pow'rfull ray
Of heavenly truth, passe this
Whilst all the standards of your
Arise and climbe our
whitest, highest hill;
There your sad thoughts with
joy and wonder fill,
And see seas calme as earth,
earth as your will.
Behold! how lightning
like a taper flyes,
And guilds your chari't, but
Seeing it selfe out-gloried by your
Threatning and boystrous tempests
And to your steps part in soft paths,
There no where hangs a cloud, but on your
No showrs but 'twixt your lids, nor
But what your whiter, chaster brest doth
Whilst winds in chains colder for sorrow blow.
Shrill trumpets doe only sound to eate,
Artillery hath loaden ev'ry dish with meate,
drums at ev'ry health alarmes beate.
things Lucasta, but Lucasta, call,
tongues, waters in accents fall,
The aire doth sing,
and fire is musicall.
Awake from the dead
vault in which you dwell,
All's loyall here, except
your thoughts rebell
Which, so let loose, often their
See! she obeys! By all
No storms, heats, colds, no soules
Nor civill war is found; I meane, to us.
Lovers and angels, though in heav'n they
And see the woes and discords here below,
What they not feele, must not be said to know.