ABRAHAM COWLEY

And since love ne'er will from me flee, A Mistress moderately fair, And good as guardian angels are,

Only beloved and loving me.

O fountains ! when in you shall I

Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy ?

O fields ! O woods ! when, when shall I be made

The happy tenant of your shade?

Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood: Here's wealthy Nature's treasury, Where all the riches lie that she

Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.

Pride and ambition here

Only in far-fetch'd metaphors appear ;

Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter,

And nought but Echo flatter.

The gods, when they descended, hither From heaven did always choose their way : And therefore we may boldly say

That 'tis the way too thither.

How happy here should I And one dear She live, and embracing die ! She who is all the world, and can exclude In deserts solitude.

I should have then this only fear : Lest men, when they my pleasures see, Should hither throng to live like me,

And so make a city here.

�� �