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Colonial America prose and poetry.doc
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“Easter-Wings"

  LORD, who createdst man in wealth and store, Though foolishly he lost the same, Decaying more and more, Till he became Most poor:

With thee O let me rise As larks, harmoniously, And sing this day thy victories : Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne: And still with sicknesses and shame Thou didst so punish sinne, That I became Most thinne.

With thee Let me combine, And feel this day thy victorie, For, if I imp my wing on thine, Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

"The Altar"

A broken A L T A R, Lord, thy servant reares, Made of a heart, and cemented with teares: Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; No workmans tool hath touch’d the same. A H E A R T alone Is such a stone, As nothing but Thy pow’r doth cut. Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame, To praise thy Name; That, if I chance to hold my peace, These stones to praise thee may not cease. O let thy blessed S A C R I F I C E be mine, And sanctifie this A L T A R to be thine.

Richard Lovelace

an English poet and nobleman, born in Woolwich, today part of south-east London . He was one of the cavalier poets, and a noted royalist. He was imprisoned briefly in 1648 for supporting the Royalists during the time of Oliver Cromwell. He was best known for his poems "To Althea," "from Prison" and "To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars."

“To Lucasta, on Going to the Warres"

I. TELL me not (Sweet) I am unkinde,      That from the Nunnerie Of thy chaste breast, and quiet minde,      To Warre and Armes I flie.

II. True ; a new Mistresse now I chase,      The first Foe in the Field; And with a stronger Faith imbrace      A Sword, a Horse, a Shield.

III. Yet this Inconstancy is such,      As you too shall adore; I could not love thee (Deare) so much,      Lov'd I not Honour more.

"To Althea from Prison"

I WHEN Love with unconfined wings      Hovers within my Gates ; And my divine Althea brings      To whisper at the Grates ; When I lye tangled in her haire      And fettered to her eye; The Gods that wanton in the Aire,      Know no such Liberty.

II When flowing Cups run swiftly round      With no allaying Thames, Our carelesse heads with Roses bound,      Our hearts with Loyall Flames; When thirsty griefe in Wine we steepe,      When Healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the Deepe,      Know no such Libertie.

III When (like committed linnets) I      With shriller throat shall sing The sweetnes, Mercy, Majesty,      And glories of my KING; When I shall voyce aloud, how Good      He is, how Great should be; Enlarged Winds that curle the Flood,      Know no such Liberty.

IV Stone Walls do not a Prison make,      Nor Iron bars a Cage; Mindes innocent and quiet take      That for an Hermitage; If I have freedome in my Love,      And in my soule am free; Angels alone that sore above,      Injoy such Liberty.

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