I
 But now the second Morning, from her bow'r,
 Began to glister in her beams, and now
 The roses of the day began to flow'r
 In th' eastern garden; for Heav'ns smiling brow
 Half insolent for joy begun to show:
 The early Sun came lively dancing out,
 And the brag lambs ran wantoning about,
 That heav'n, and earth might seem in triumph both to shout.


II
 Th' engladded Spring, forgetfull now to weep,
 Began t' eblazon from her leafy bed,
 The waking swallow broke her half-year's sleep,
 And every bush lay deeply purpured
 With violets, the wood's late-wintry head
 Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,
 And his bald trees put on their green attire,
 Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.


III
 And now the taller Sons (whom Titan warms)
 Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds,
 Dandled the morning's childhood in their arms,
 And, if they chanc'd to slip the prouder pines,
 The under Corylets did catch the shines,
 To gild their leaves; saw never happy year
 Such joyfull triumph, and triumphant cheer,
 As though the aged world anew created were.


IV
 Say Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
 And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red?
 Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
 And some new-found-out bridegroom mean'st to wed:
 Tell me ye Trees, so fresh apparelled,
 So never let the spitefull canker waste you,
 So never let the heav'ns with lightening blast you,
 Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?


V
 Answer me Jordan, why thy crooked tide
 So often wanders from his nearest way,
 As though some other way thy stream would slide,
 And fain salute the place where something lay?
 And you sweet birds, that shaded from the ray,
 Sit carolling, and piping grief away,
 The while the lambs to hear you dance, and play,
 Tell me sweet birds, what is it you so fain would say?


VI
 And, thou fair Spouse of Earth, that every year,
 Gett'st such a numerous issue of thy bride,
 How chance thou hotter shin'st, and draw'st more near?
 Sure thou somewhere some worthy sight hast spied,
 That in one place for joy thou canst not bide:
 And you dead swallows, that so lively now
 Through the flit air your winged passage row,
 How could new life into your frozen ashes flow?


VII
 Ye primroses, and purple violets,
 Tell me, why blaze ye from your leafy bed,
 And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets,
 As though you would somewhere be carried,
 With fresh perfumes, and velvets garnished?
 But ah, I need not ask, 'tis surely so,
 You all would to your Saviour's triumphs go,
 There would ye all await, and humble homage do.


VIII
 There should the Earth herself with garlands new
 And lovely flow'rs embellished adore,
 Such roses never in her garland grew,
 Such lilies never in her breast she wore,
 Like beauty never yet did shine before:
 There should the Sun another Sun behold,
 From whence himself borrows his locks of gold,
 That kindle heav'n, and earth with beauties manifold.


IX
 There might the violet, and primrose sweet
 Beams of more lively, and more lovely grace,
 Arising from their beds of incense meet;
 There should the swallow see new life embrace
 Dead ashes, and the grave unheal his face,
 To let the living from his bowels creep,
 Unable longer his own dead to keep:
 There heav'n and earth should see their Lord awake from sleep.


X
 Their Lord, before by other judg'd to die,
 Now Judge of all himself; before forsaken
 Of all the world, that from his aid did fly,
 Now by the Saints into their armies taken;
 Before for an unworthy man mistaken,
 Now worthy to be God confess'd; before
 With blasphemies by all the basest tore,
 Now worshipped by Angels, that him low adore.


XI
 Whose garment was before indipt in blood,
 But now, imbrighten'd into heav'nly flame,
 The Sun itself outglitters, though he should
 Climb to the top of the celestial frame,
 And force the stars go hide themselves for shame:
 Before that under earth was buried,
 But now about the heavens is carried,
 And there for ever by the Angels heried.


XII
 So fairest Phosphor the bright morning star,
 But newly wash'd in the green element,
 Before the drowsy Night is half aware,
 Shooting his flaming locks with dew besprent,
 Springs lively up into the orient,
 And the bright drove, fleec'd all in gold, he chases
 To drink, that on the Olympic mountain grazes,
 The while the minor Planets forfeit all their faces.


XIII
 So long he wander'd in our lower sphere,
 That heav'n began his cloudy stars despise,
 Half envious, to see on earth appear
 A greater light, than flam'd in his own skies:
 A