Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ISAAC'S MARRIAGE, by HENRY VAUGHAN



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ISAAC'S MARRIAGE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Praying! And to be married? It was rare
Last Line: First, a young patriarch, then a married saint.
Alternate Author Name(s): Silurist
Subject(s): Bible; Religion; Theology


Praying! and to be married? It was rare,
But now 'tis monstrous; and that pious care
Though of ourselves, is so much out of date,
That to renew't were to degenerate.
But thou a chosen sacrifice wert given,
And offered up so early unto heaven
Thy flames could not be out; Religion was
Rayed into thee, like beams into a glass,
Where, as thou grewst, it multiplied and shined,
The sacred constellation of thy mind.
But being for a bride, prayer was such
A decried course, sure it prevailed not much.
Had'st ne'er an oath, nor compliment? thou wert
An odd dull suitor; hadst thou but the art
Of these our days, thou couldst have coined thee twenty
New sev'ral oaths, and compliments (too) plenty;
O sad and wild excess! and happy those
White days, that durst no impious mirth expose!
When conscience by lewd use had not lost sense,
Nor bold-faced custom banished innocence;
Thou hadst no pompous train, nor antic crowd
Of young, gay swearers, with their needless, loud
Retinue; all was here smooth as thy bride
And calm like her, or that mild evening-tide;
Yet, hadst thou nobler guests: angels did wind
And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind,
These fetched thee home thy bride, and all the way
Advised thy servant what to do and say;
These taught him at the well, and thither brought
The chaste and lovely object of thy thought;
But here was ne'er a compliment, not one
Spruce, supple cringe, or studied look put on,
All was plain, modest truth: nor did she come
In rolls and curls, mincing and stately dumb,
But in a virgin's native blush and fears
Fresh as those roses, which the day-spring wears.
O sweet, divine simplicity! O grace
Beyond a curled lock, or painted face!
A pitcher too she had, nor thought it much
To carry that, which some would scorn to touch;
With which in mild, chaste language she did woo
To draw him drink, and for his camels too.
And now thou knewst her coming, it was time
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climb
Unto thy God, for marriage of all states
Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates;
This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undress
Thy soul, and with new pinions refresh
Her wearied wings, which so restored did fly
Above the stars, a track unknown and high,
And in her piercing flight perfumed the air,
Scatt'ring the myrrh and incense of thy pray'r.
So from Lahai-roi's well some spicy cloud
Wooed by the sun swells up to be his shroud,
And from his moist womb weeps a fragrant shower,
Which, scattered in a thousand pearls, each flower
And herb partakes, where having stood awhile
And something cooled the parched and thirsty isle,
The thankful earth unlocks herself, and blends
A thousand odours, which (all mixed) she sends
Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.
Thus soared thy soul, who (though young) didst inherit
Together with his blood, thy father's spirit,
Whose active zeal, and tried faith were to thee
Familiar ever since thy infancy.
Others were timed and trained up to't but thou
Didst thy swift years in piety out-grow,
Age made them rev'rend, and a snowy head,
But thou wert so, ere time his snow could shed;
Then, who would truly limn thee out, must paint
First, a young Patriarch, then a married Saint.





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