Page:The works of Anne Bradstreet in prose and verse.djvu/483

 Letters to her Husband. 397

Tell him here's worfe then a confufed matter, His little world's a fathom under water, Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams Hath power to dry the torrent of thefe ftreams. Tell him I would fay more, but cannot well, Oppreffed minds, abrupteft tales do tell. NoAV port with double fpeed, mark what I fay, By all our loves conjure him not to ftay.

Another. [243]

As loving Hind that (Hartlefs) wants her Deer,

Scuds through the woods and Fern with harkning ear,

Perplext, in every bufh & nook doth pry.

Her deareft Deer, might anfwer ear or eye;

So doth my anxious foul, which now doth mifs,

A dearer Dear (far dearer Heart) then this.

Still wait with doubts, & hopes, and failing eye.

His voice to hear, or perfon to difcry.

Or as the penfive Dove doth all alone

(On withered bough) moft uncouthly bemoan

The abfence of her Love, and loving Mate,

Whofe lofs hath made her fo unfortunate:

Ev'n thus doe I, with many a deep fad groan

Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone.

His prefence and his fafe return. Hill wooes,

With thoufand dolefull fighs & mournfull Cooes.

Or as the loving Mullet, that true Fifh,

Her fellow loft, nor joy nor life do wilh, ,

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