THOMAS CAMPION

Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth !

Though here thou liv'st disgraced,

And she in heaven is placed, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth !

Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth !

That so have scorched thee

As thou still black must be, Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her, while yet her glory shineth !

There comes a luckless night

That will dim all her light; And this the black unhappy shade divineth.

Follow still, since so thy fates ordain6d !

The sun must have his shade,

Till both at once do fade, The sun still proud, the shadow still disdained.

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JCOL LOW your saint, follow with accents sweet I A Haste you, sad notes, fill at her flying feet ! There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love : But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return again !

All that I sung still to her praise did tend ; Still she was first, still she my songs did end;. Yet she my love and music both doth fly, The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy : Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight ! It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight.

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