ABRAHAM COWLEY
360 3. The Swallow
FOOLISH prater, what dost thou So early at my window do? Cruel bird, thou'st ta'cn away A dream out of my arms to-day; A dream that ne'er must equall'd be By all that waking eyes may see. Thou this damage to repair Nothing half bo sweet and fair, Nothing half so good, canst bring, Tho' men say thou bring'st the Spring.
��61 On the "Death of Mr. William Heruey
IT was a dismal, and a fearful night, Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling Light, When Sleep, Death's image, left my troubled breast
By something hkcr Death possest. My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, And on my soul hung the dull weight Of some intolerable fate. What bell was that ? Ah me! too much I know!
My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever, and my life to moan?
Thy soul and body, when death's agony Besieged around thy noble heart, Did not with more reluctance part
Than I, my dearest Friend, do part from thee.
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