Page:Anne Bradstreet and her time.djvu/280

264 The Hats and Fans, the Plumes and Ladies tires, And thousand times his mazed mind doth wish, Some part (at least) of that great wealth was his, But feeling empty wishes nought obtain, At night turnes to his mothers cot again, And tells her tales, (his full heart over glad) Of all the glorious sights his Eyes have had; But finds too soon his want of Eloquence, The silly prattler speaks no word of sense; But feeling utterance fail his great desires Sits down in silence, deeply he admires, Thus weak brained I, reading thy lofty stile, Thy profound learning, viewing other while; Thy Art in natural Philosophy, Thy Saint like mind in grave Divinity; Thy piercing skill in high Astronomy, And curious insight in anatomy; Thy Physick, musick and state policy, Valour in warr, in peace good husbandry, Sure lib'ral Nature did with Art not small, In all the arts make thee most liberal, A thousand thousand times my senseless sences Moveless stand charmed by thy sweet influences; More senseless then the stones to Amphious Luto, Mine eyes are sightless, and my tongue is mute, My full astonish'd heart doth pant to break, Through grief it wants a faculty to speak; Thy double portion would have served many, Unto each man his riches is assign'd Of name, of State, of Body and of mind:

Thou had'st thy part of all, but of the last, O pregnant brain, O comprehension vast; Thy haughty Stile and rapted wit sublime All ages wondring at, shall never climb, Thy sacred works are not for imitation, But monuments to future admiration, Thus Bartas fame shall last while Starrs do satnd, And whilst there's Air or Fire, or Sea or Land. But least my ignorance shall do thee wrong, To celebrate thy merits in my Song. I'le leave thy praise to those shall do thee right, Good will, not skill, did cause me bring my mite.