I.— The Rose of the World.

Lo, when the Lord made North and South

And sun and moon ordained, He,

Forthbringing each by word of mouth

In order of its dignity,

Did man from the crude clay express

By sequence, and, all else decreed,

He form'd the woman; nor might less

Than Sabbath such a work succeed.

And still with favour singled out,

Marr'd less than man by mortal fall,

Her disposition is devout,

Her countenance angelical;

The best things that the best believe

Are in her face so kindly writ

The faithless, seeing her, conceive

Not only heaven, but hope of it;

No idle thought her instinct shrouds,

But fancy chequers settled sense,

Like alteration of the clouds

On noonday's azure permanence;

Pure dignity, composure, ease

Declare affections nobly fix'd,

And impulse sprung from due degrees

Of sense and spirit sweetly mix'd.

Her modesty, her chiefest grace,

The cestus clasping Venus’ side,

How potent to deject the face

Of him who would affront its pride!

Wrong dares not in her presence speak,

Nor spotted thought its taint disclose

Under the protest of a cheek

Outbragging Nature's boast the rose.

In mind and manners how discreet;

How artless in her very art;

How candid in discourse; how sweet

The concord of her lips and heart;

How simple and how circumspect;

How subtle and how fancy-free;

Though sacred to her love, how deck'd

With unexclusive courtesy;

How quick in talk to see from far

The way to vanquish or evade;

How able her persuasions are

To prove, her reasons to persuade;

How ( not to call true instinct's bent

And woman's very nature, harm ),

How amiable and innocent

Her pleasure in her power to charm;

How humbly careful to attract,

Though crown'd with all the soul desires,

Connubial aptitude exact,

Diversity that never tires.