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From Thomas Powell's 'humane Industry' Post by :villarj Category :Poems Author :Henry Vaughan Date :October 2011 Read :4024

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From Thomas Powell's "humane Industry"


1. (CAMPION. EPIGR. I. 151.)

Time's-Teller wrought into a little round,
Which count'st the days and nights with watchful sound;
How--when once fix'd--with busy wheels dost thou
The twice twelve useful hours drive on and show;
And where I go, go'st with me without strife,
The monitor and ease of fleeting life.



The untired strength of never-ceasing motion,
A restless rest, a toilless operation,
Heaven then had given it, when wise Nature did
To frail and solid things one place forbid;
And parting both, made the moon's orb their bound,
Damning to various change this lower ground.
But now what Nature hath those laws transgress'd,
Giving to Earth a work that ne'er will rest?
Though 'tis most strange, yet--great King--'tis not new:
This work was seen and found before, in you.
In you, whose mind--though still calm--never sleeps,
But through your realms one constant motion keeps:
As your mind--then--was Heaven's type first, so this
But the taught anti-type of your mind is.



How oft have we beheld wild beasts appear
From broken gulfs of earth, upon some part
Of sand that did not sink! How often there
And thence, did golden boughs o'er-saffron'd start!
Nor only saw we monsters of the wood,
But I have seen sea-calves whom bears withstood;
And such a kind of beast as might be named
A horse, but in most foul proportion framed.


4. (MARTIAL. EPIGR. I. 105.)

That the fierce pard doth at a beck
Yield to the yoke his spotted neck,
And the untoward tiger bear
The whip with a submissive fear;
That stags do foam with golden bits.
And the rough Libyc bear submits
Unto the ring; that a wild boar
Like that which Calydon of yore
Brought forth, doth mildly put his head
In purple muzzles to be led;
That the vast, strong-limb'd buffles draw
The British chariots with taught awe,
And the elephant with courtship falls
To any dance the negro calls:
Would not you think such sports as those
Were shows which the gods did expose?
But these are nothing, when we see
That hares by lions hunted be, etc.

(The end)
Henry Vaughan's poem: From Thomas Powell's "Humane Industry"

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Let Me Sing Of What I Know Let Me Sing Of What I Know

Let Me Sing Of What I Know
A wild west Coast, a little Town, Where little Folk go up and down, Tides flow and winds blow: Night and Tempest and the Sea, Human Will and Human Fate: What is little, what is great? Howsoe'er the answer be, Let me sing of what I know.(The end)William Allingham's poem: Let Me Sing Of What I Know

Mongan Thinks Of His Past Greatness Mongan Thinks Of His Past Greatness

Mongan Thinks Of His Past Greatness
I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young And weep because I know all things now: I have been a hazel tree and they hung The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough Among my leaves in times out of mind: I became a rush that horses tread: I became a man, a hater of the wind, Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head Would not lie on the breast or his lips