Regeneration

          1.

A WARD, and still in bonds, one day

         I stole abroad,

It was high-spring, and all the way

     Primros'd, and hung with shade;

     Yet, was it frost within,

         And surly winds

Blasted my infant buds, and sin

     Like clouds eclips'd my mind.

          2.

Storm'd thus; I straight perceiv'd my spring

    Mere stage, and show,

My walk a monstrous, mountain's thing

     Rough-cast with rocks, and snow;

     And as a pilgrim's eye

    Far from relief,

Measures the melancholy sky

     Then drops, and rains for grief,

          3.

So sigh'd I upwards still, at last

          'Twixt steps, and falls

I reach'd the pinnacle, where plac'd

      I found a pair of scales,

      I took them up and laid

          In th'one late pains,

The other smoke, and pleasures weigh'd

      But prov'd the heavier grains;

          4.

With that, some cried, Away; straight I

          Obey'd, and led

Full east, a fair, fresh field could spy

      Some call'd it Jacob's Bed;

      A virgin-soil, which no

          Rude feet ere trod,

Where (since he slept there,) only go

      Prophets, and friends of God.

          5.

Here, I repos'd; but scarce well set,

     A grove descried

Of stately height, whose branches met

      And mixed on every side;

      I entered, and once in

     (Amaz'd to see't,)

Found all was chang'd, and a new spring

      Did all my senses greet;

          6.

The unthrift sun shot vital gold

         A thousand pieces,

And heaven its azure did unfold

     Checker'd with snowy fleeces,

     The air was all in spice

         And every bush

A garland wore; thus fed my eyes

     But all the ear lay hush.

          7.

Only a little fountain lent

     Some use for ears,

And on the dumb shades language spent

     The music of her tears;

     I drew her near, and found

     The cistern full

Of diverse stones, some bright, and round

     Others ill'shap'd, and dull.

          8.

The first (pray mark,) as quick as light

          Danc'd through the flood,

But, th'last more heavy than the night

      Nail'd to the center stood;

      I wonder'd much, but tir'd

    At last with thought,

My restless eye that still desir'd

      As strange an object brought;

          9.

It was a bank of flowers, where I descried

    (Though 'twas mid'day,)

Some fast asleep, others broad-eyed

      And taking in the ray,

      Here musing long, I heard

     A rushing wind

Which still increas'd, but whence it stirr'd

      No where I could not find;

          10.

I turn'd me round, and to each shade

    Dispatch'd an eye,

To see, if any leaf had made

      Least motion, or reply,

      But while I listening sought

     My mind to ease

By knowing, where 'twas, or where not,

      It whispered: Where I please.

Lord, then said I, On me one breath,

And let me die before my death!

Henry Vaughan

The Retreat

HAPPY those early days! when I

Shin'd in my angel-infancy.

Before I understood this place

Appoint'd for my second race,

Or taught my soul to fancy ought

But a white, celestial thought,

When yet I had not walk'd above

A mile, or two, from my first love,

And looking back (at that short space,)

Could see a glimpse of his bright face;

When on some gild'd cloud or flower

My gazing soul would dwell an hour,

And in those weaker glories spy

Some shodows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound

My conscience with a sinful sound,

Or had the black art to dispence

A sev'ral sin to ev'ry sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress

Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain,

Where first I left my glorious train,

From whence th'enlightened spirit sees

That shady city of palm trees;

But (ah!) my soul with too much stay

Is drunk, and staggers in the way.

Some men a forward motion love,

But I by backward steps would move,

And when this dust falls to the urn

In that state I came return.

Henry Vaughan

The Morning Watch

O JOYS! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers,

And shoots of glory, my soul breaks, and buds!

      All the long hours

      Of night, and rest

      Through the still shrouds

      Of sleep, and clouds,

     This dew fell on my breast;

      O how it bloods,

And spirits all my earth! hark! In what rings,

And hymning circulations the quick world

      Awakes, and sings;

      The rising winds,

      And fallings springs,

      Birds, beasts, all things

     Adore him in their kinds.

      Thus all is hurl'd

In sacr'd hymns, and order, the great chime

And symphony of nature. Prayer is

      The world in tune,

      A spirit-voice,

      And vocal joys

     Whose echo is heav'n's bliss.

      O let me climb

When I lie down! The pious soul by night

Is like a clouded star, whose beams though said

      To shed their light

      Under some cloud

      Yet are above,

      And shine, and move

     Beyond that misty shroud.

      So in my bed

That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes hide

My lamp, and life, both shall in thee abide.

Henry Vaughan

The World

          1.

I SAW Eternity the other night

Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,

     All calm, as it was bright,

And round beneath it, Time is hours, days, years

      Driven by the spheres

Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the world

     And all her train were hurl'd;

The doting lover in his quaintest strain

      Did there complain,

Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,

      Wit's sour delights,

With gloves, and knots the silly snares of pleasure

      Yet his dear treasure

All scatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour

      Upon a flower.

          2.

The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe

Like a thick midnight fog mov'd there so slow

He did nor stay, nor go;

Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl

     Upon his soul,

And clouds of crying witnesses without

Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found

      Work'd under ground,

Where he did clutch his prey, but one did see

      That policy,

Churches and altars fed him, perjuries

      Were gnats and flies,

It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he

      Drank them as free.

          3.

The fearful miser on a heap of rust

Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust

His own hands with the dust,

But would not place one piece above, but lives

     In fear of thieves.

Thousands there were as frantic as himself

And hugg'd each one his pelf,

The downright epicure plac'd heav'n in sense

     And scorn'd pretnece

While others slipt into a wide excess

     Said little less;

The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave

     Who think them brave,

And poor, despised Truth sat counting by

     Their victory.

          4.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,

And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the Ring,

But most would use no wing.

O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night

     Before true light,

To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day

Because it shows the way,

The way which from the dead and dark abode

     Leads up to God,

A way where you might tread the Sun, and be

     More bright than he.

But as I did their madness so discuss

     One whisper'd thus,

"This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide

     But for his bride."

Henry Vaughan

Silence and stealth of days

SILENCE, and stealth of days! 'tis now

            Since thou art gone,

Twelve hundred hours, and not a brow

            But clouds hang on.

As he that in some cave's thick damp

            Lockt from the light,

Fixeth a solitary lamp,

            To brave the night,

And walking from his sun, when past

            That glim'ring ray

Cuts through the heavy mists in haste

            Back to his day,

So o'r fled minutes I retreat

            Unto that hour

Which show'd thee last, but did defeat

            Thy light, and power,

I search, and rack my soul to see

            Those beams again,

But nothing but the snuff to me

            Appeareth plain;

That dark and dead sleeps in its known

            And common urn,

But those fled to their Maker's throne

            There shine and burn;

O could I track them! but souls must

            Track one the other,

And now the spirit, not the dust,

            Must be thy brother.

Yet I have one Pearl by whose light

            All things I see,

And in the heart of earth and night

            Find heaven and thee.

Henry Vaughan

They are all gone into the world of light

THEY are all gone into the world of light!

And I alone sit ling'ring here;

Their very memory is fair and bright,

And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast

Like stars upon some gloomy grove,

Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed,

After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days:

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,

Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy hope! and high humility,

High as the Heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have show'd them me

To kindle my cold love,

Dear, beauteous death! the jewel of the just,

Shining no where, but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust;

Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest, may know

At first sight, if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove he sings in now,

That is to him unknown.

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,

And into glory peep.

If a star were confin'd into a tomb

Her captive flames must needs burn there;

But when the hand that lockt her up gives room,

She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee!

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall

Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill

My perspective (still) as they pass,

Or else remove me hence unto that hill,

Where I shall need no glass.

Henry Vaughan

Peace

MY soul, there is a country

Far beyond the stars,

Where stands a winged sentry

All skillful in the wars,

There above noise, and danger

Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles,

And one born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files,

He is thy gracious friend,

And (O my soul awake!)

Did in pure love descend

To die here for thy sake,

If thou canst get but thither,

There grows the flower of peace,

The rose that cannot wither

Thy fortress, and thy ease;

Leave then thy foolish ranges;

For none can thee secure,

But one who never changes,

Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

Henry Vaughan

The Relapse

MY God, how gracious art thou! I had slipt

              Almost to hell,

And on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit

              Did hear them yell,

But O thy love! thy rich, almighty love

              That sav'd my soul,

And checkt their fury, when I saw them move,

              And heard them howl;

O my sole comfort, take no more these ways,

              This hideous path,

And I will mend my own without delays,

              Cease thou thy wrath!

I have deserv'd a thick, Egyptian damp,

              Dark as my deeds,

Should mist within me, and put out that lamp

              Thy spirit feeds;

A darting conscience full of stabs and fears;

              No shade but Yew,

Sullen, and sad eclipses, cloudy spheres,

              These are my due.

But he that with his blood, (a price too dear,)

              My scores did pay,

Bid me, by virtue from him, challenge here

              The brightest day;

Sweet, downy thoughts; soft lily-shades; calm streams;

              Joys full and true;

Fresh, spicy mornings; and eternal beams

              These are his due.

Henry Vaughan

Unprofitableness

HOW rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are!

'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung

 Sullied with dust and mud;

Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share

Their youth, and beauty, cold showers nipt, and wrung

 Their spiciness and blood;

But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey

Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more

 Breath all perfumes, and spice;

I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day

Wear in my bosom a full sun; such store

 Hath one beam from thy eyes.

But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this?

What one poor leaf did ever I yet fall

 To wait upon thy wreath?

Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress,

And when th'hast done, a stench or fog is all

 The odor I bequeath.

Henry Vaughan

Upon the Priory Grove, His Usual Retirement

HAIL sacred shades! cool, leavy House!

Chaste treasurer of all my vows,

And wealth! on whose soft bosom laid

My love's fair steps I first betrayed:

Henceforth no melancholy flight,

No sad wing, or hoarse bird of night,

Disturb this air, no fatal throat

Of raven, or owl, awake the note

Of our laid echo, no voice dwell

Within these leaves, but Philomel.

The poisonous ivy here no more

His false twists on the oak shall score,

Only the woodbine here may twine

As th'emblem of her love and mine;

Th'amorous sun shall here convey

His best beams, in thy shades to play;

The active air, the gentlest showers

Shall from his wings rain on thy flowers;

And the moon from her dewy locks

Shall deck thee with her brightest drops:

What ever can a fancy move,

Or feed the eye; be on this Grove;

And when at last the winds and tears

Of Heaven, with the consuming years,

Shall these green curls bring to decay,

And clothe thee in an aged gray:

(If ought a lover can foresee;

Or if we poets, prophets be)

From hence transplant'd, thou shalt stand

A fresh Grove in th'Elysian land;

Where (most blest pair!) as here on earth

Thou first didst eye our growth and birth;

So there again, thou'lt see us move

In our first innocence, and love:

And in thy shades, as now, so then,

We'll kiss, and smile, and walk again.

Henry Vaughan

Son-days

               1

BRIGHT shadows of true Rest! some shoots of bliss,

               Heaven once a week;

The next world's gladness prepossest in this;

               A day to seek;

Eternity in time; the steps by which

We Climb above all ages; Lamps that light

Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich,

And full redemption of the whole week's flight.

                    2

The Pulleys unto headlong man; time's bower;

                    The narrow way;

Transplanted Paradise; God's walking hour;

                    The Cool o'th' day;

The Creatures' _Jubilee_; God's parle with dust;

Heaven here; Man on the hills of Myrrh, and flowers;

Angels descending; the Returns of Trust;

A Gleam of glory, after six-days'-showers.

                    3

The Church's love-feasts; Time's Prerogative,

                     And Interest

Deducted from the whole; The Combs, and hive,

                     And home of rest.

The milky way chalked out with suns; a clue

That guides through erring hours; and in full story

A taste of Heav'n on earth; the pledge, and cue

Of a full feast: And the Out Courts of glory.

Henry Vaughan

Retirement

[Ed. Note: In line 25, the phrase "heaven lies leiger" means "heaven resides as an ambassador." --Nelson]

FRESH fields and woods! the Earth's fair face,

God's foot-stool, and man's dwelling-place.

I ask not why the first Believer*            [Abraham]

Did love to be a country liver?

Who to secure pious content

Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;

Where he might view the boundless sky,

And all those glorious lights on high;

With flying meteors, mists and show'rs,

Subjected hills, trees, meads and flow'rs;

And ev'ry minute bless the King

And wise Creator of each thing.

  I ask not why he did remove

To happy Mamre's holy grove,

Leaving the cities of the plain

To Lot and his successless train?

All various lusts in cities still

Are found; they are the thrones of ill;

The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd,

Cages with much uncleanness fill'd.

But rural shades are the sweet fense*          [defense]

Of piety and innocence.

They are the Meek's calm region, where

Angels descend and rule the sphere,

Where heaven lies leiger, and the dove

Duly as dew, comes from above.

If Eden be on Earth at all,

'Tis that, which we the country call.

Henry Vaughan

The Revival

UNFOLD, unfold! take in His light,

Who makes thy Cares more short than night.

The Joys, which with His Day-star rise,

He deals to all, but drowsy eyes;

And what the men of this world miss,

Some drops and dews of future bliss.

  Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note,

And with warm whispers call thee out;

The frosts are past, the storms are gone,

And backward life at last comes on.

The lofty groves in express joys

Reply unto the turtle's* voice,          [a turtle dove]

And here in dust and dirt, O here

The lilies of His love appear!

Henry Vaughan