There fits the king, while all around our head>
His grace, my fpikenard, pleafing odours fheds
About my foul, his holy comfort flies;
So clofely treafur'd in the bofom lies
The bundled myrrh, so sweet the scented gale
Breathes all En-gedi 's aromatic vale.
Now, fays the king, my love, I see thee fair,
Thine eyes, for mildnefs, with the dove's compare.
No, thou, belov'd, art fair, the church replies,
(Since all my beauties but from thee arife ;)
All fair, all pleafant, thefe communions fhew
Thy counfels pleasant, and thy comforts so.
And as at marriage feats they ftrow the flowers,
With nuptial chaplets hang the fummer bowers,.
And make the rooms of fmelling cedars fine,.
Where the fond bridegroom and the bride recline;
I drefs my foul with such exceeding care,
With fuch, with more, to court thy prefence there.
Well haft thou prais'd, he fays; the Sharon rofe
Through flowery fields a pleafing odour throws,
The valley lilies ravifh'd fenfe regale,
And with pure whitenefs paint their humble vale:
Such names of fweetnefs are thy lover 's due,
And thou, my love, be thou a lily too,
A lily fet in thorns; for all I fee,
All other daughters, are as thorns to thee..
Then he; the trees that pleafing apples yield,
Surpass the barren trees that cloath the field;
So you furpass the fons with worth divine,
So fhade, and fruit as well as fhade, is thine..
I fat me down, and faw thy branches spread,
And green protection flourish o'er my head;
I faw thy fruit, the foul's celeftial food,
I pull'd, I tafted, and I found it good.
Hence in the fpirit to the blissful seats,
Where Love, to feaft, myfteriously retreats;
He led me forth; I faw the banner rear,
And love was pencil'd for the motto there.
Prophets and teachers in your care combine,
Stay me with apples, comfort me with wine,
The cordial promifes of joys above,
For hope deferr'd has made me fick with love.
Ah! while my tongue
reveals my
fond defire,
His hands fupport me, left my life expire;
As round a child the parent's arms are plac'd,
This holds the head, and that enfolds the wait.
Here ceas'd the church, and lean'd her languid head,
Bent down with joy; when thus the lover faid,
Behold, ye daughters of the realm of peace,
She fleeps, at least her thoughts of forrow ceafe.
Now, by the bounding roes, the skipping fawns,
Near the cool brooks, or o'er the graffy lawns,
By all the tender innocents that rove,
Your hourly charges, in my facred grove,
Guard the dear charge from each approach of ill,
I would not have her wake but when the will.
So reft the church and spouse
: my verfes fo
Appear to languish with the flames you fhew,
And paufing reft; but not the pause be long,
For ftill thy Solomon purfues the fong.
Then keep the place in view; let sweets more rare
Than earth produces fill the purpled air;
Let fomething folemn overfpread the green,
Which feems to tell us, Here the Lord has been!
But let the virgin ftill in profpect shine,
And other ftrains of her's enliven mine.
She wakes, the rifes: bid the whispering breeze
More foftly whifper in the waving trees,
Or fall with filent awe; bid all around,
Before the church's voice, abate their found;
While thus her fhadowy ftrains attempt to fhew
A future advent of the fpoufe below:
Hark! my beloved's voice! behold him too !
Behold him coming in the distant view :
No clambering mountains make my lover stay,
(For what are mountains in a lover's way?)
Leaping he come, how like the nimble roe
He runs the paths his prophets us'd to show!
And now he looks from yon partition-wall,
Built till he comes-'tis only then to fall,
And now he's nearer in the promise feen,
Too faint the fight-'tis with a glafs between ;-
From hence I hear him as a lover speak,
Who near a window calls a fair to wake.
Attend, ye virgins, while the words that trace
An opening fpring defign the day of grace.
Hark! or I dream, or elfe I hear him fay,
Arife, my love; my fair-one; come away;
For now the tempefts of thy winter end,
"Thick rains no more in heavy drops descend;
Sweet painted flowers their filken leaves unclofe,
Aud drefs the face of earth with varied shows;
In the green wood the finging birds renew,
Their chirping notes, the filver turtles coo:
The trees that yield the fig already shoot,
And knit their blossoms for their early fruit;
With fragrant fcents the vines refresh the day,
Arife, my love; my fair-one, come away.
come, my dove, forfake thy close retreat,
For clofe in fafety haft thou fix'd thy feat,
As fearful pigeons in dark clefts abide,
And safe the clefts their tender charges hide.
Now let thy looks with modeft guise appear,
Now let thy voice falute my longing ear,
For in thy looks an humble mind I see,
Prayer forms thy voice, and both are sweet to me.
To fave the bloomings of my vineyard, hafte,
Which foxes (false deluding teachers) waste;
Watch well their haunts, and catch the foxes there,
Our grapes are tender, and demand thy care.
Thus fpeaks my love: furprizing love divine!
I thus am his, he thus for ever mine.
And, till he comes, I find a prefence ftill,
Where fouls attentive ferve his holy will;
Where down in vales unfpotted lilies grow,
White types of innocence, in humble show.
Oh, till the spicy breath of heavenly day,
Till all thy fhadows fleet before thy ray;
Turn, my beloved, with thy comforts here,
Turn in thy promife, in thy grace appear, -
Nor let fuch fwiftnefs in the roes be fhown
To fave themselves, as thou to chear thine own;
Turn like the nimble harts that lightly bound,
Before the stretches of the fleetest hound;
Skim the plain chace of lofty Bether's head,
And make the mountain wonder if they tread.
But long expectance of a blifs delay'd
Breeds anxious doubt, and tempts the facred maid;
Then mifts arifing strait repel the light,
The colour'd garden lies difguis'd with night;
A pale-horn'd crefcent leads a glimmering throng,
And groans of abfence jar within the fong.
By night, the cries, a night which blots the mind,
I feek the lover, whom I fail to find:
When on my couch compos'd to thought I lie,
I fearch, and vainly fearch, with reason's eye;.
Rife, fondly rife, thy prefent fearch give o'er,
And ask if others knew thy lover more.
Dark as it is, I rife; the moon that shines
Shows by the gleam the city's outward lines:
I range the wandering road, the winding street,
And afk, but afk in vain, of all I meet,
Till, toil'd with every difappointing place,
My steps the guardians of the temple trace,
Whom thus my wifh accofts: Ye facred guides,
Ye prophets, tell me where my love refides?
'Twas well I queftion'd, fcarce I pafs'd them by,
Ere my rais'd foul perceives my lover nigh:
And have I found thee, found my joy divine?
How fast I'll hold thee, till I make thee mine!
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