Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VOYAGE, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT First Line: Could I but be / perpetuallie Last Line: Another voyage make to hell. Subject(s): Explorers; God; Hell; Self; Temptation; Exploring; Discovery; Discoverers | ||||||||
COULD I but be Perpetuallie The man I was ye other Day: No Name of fear How fierce so e'r Mee from my Selfe could fright away. No haven, say I, To Privacy: When once my labouring Heart gat thither, My calmed Breast Floated in Rest, And feard no furie of fowle weather: There did I see All things agree In ye Sweet Centre of Gods Will; Where had I cast My Anchor, fast And sure had been my Vessell still. But foolish I Went by & by To hoise my tattered Saile againe, Unrigg'd, unman'd, I put from land Into ye Worlds tempestuous Maine. The flattering Sea Kept truce wth Mee A while, & least my Spirits should faile, Gently behind Came every Wind And puff'd me up more then my Saile. Smoothe was my way, And I most gay Went on, top and top-gallant fine: I swum in pleasure At ease and leisure, And never thought the Sea was brine. Thus did I ride O'r Time & Tide Till far ingaged in the Maine, That libertie Inclosed Mee Fast Pris'ner in ye boundlesse Plaine. When loe a Clowd Began to crowd Day out of Heavn, & my poor sight: I look'd, but I Could not descry Ought, but a strange Meridian Night. Before I would not, And now I could not Behold that Heavn, which hid its face From Me, as I Before did my From it, & its all-sweetning grace. The treacherous Wind Was soon combind With ye false waves to mock poor Me, Tossing Me high, Ev'n to ye skie, Which well it knew I could not see. Then down I fell As low as Hell; Alas both bottom lesse were found, The Sea & my Vast Miserie, Where I a thousand times was drown'd. Still mutinous Passions In sundry fashions Toss'd me about from Wave to Wave; Still anxious Cares And helpless feares Perplex'd Alarms & Onsets gave. Till at ye last Their furie cast Me on a Rock & split me quite: A thousand Men And yet not one Was I, a most distracted Wight. No help alas For me there was From those vexatious Vanities Which fild ye World; They onely hurl'd Vain froath & foam into mine eyes. Trust me no more For I am poore Cry'd heavy Gold; Much lower I Shall make you sink; You must not think That money true Content will buy. Then Pleasure cries Turne back thine eyes, Thy hankering eyes; No help dwells heer: Although my skin Be fair, within Live Anguish, Rottennesse, & fear. Nay all this All, Which We miscall, Shrunk to its Nothing, & spake true, In Mee you must Not look to trust, Who am as poor & weak as you. And must I die False Freinds, said I Whilst You look on? This Vessell Heer Grieves me not much But oh I grutch Too loose ye Jewell it doth beare: A richer one Then ever shone In Princes Crowne: Far more it cost Then You, all You Are worth; & know It is a Soule: Must That be lost? Heer did I faint But my Complaint Mov'd a good Friend, whose Love did buy That Gemm for Mee: Propitious Hee Pitty'd my helplesse Miserie, I had done thinking, And now was sinking, When loe He brings a peece of Wood: Hold fast on this, Said He, it is Thine Ark against ye worlds vast Flood. This was ye Tree Of Life to Mee: Much like an Anchor was its frame; A Tree of Rest All sweet, all blest A Crosse in Nothing but its Name. I held it fast And easily past The tamed Waves: The boistrous Winde Now blew away It selfe, & Day Ypon ye Smoothed Ocean shinde. An Heavnly Blast Made gracious hast, And filld my Weather-beaten Sail; The Spirit of Love Me gently drove Gainst whom no Ocean may prevaile. And as ye Land Grew neer at hand, Behold, said Hee, ye trustie Shore. Wouldst Thou be sure To rest secure? Venture into ye Main no more: Or sail wth Mee In ye Sweet Sea, Whose everlasting streams doe flow Above ye Sphears, Where never fears Did rise, nor treacherous Tempests blow. Thus did I come All shipwrack'd home Unto my Selfe: & there must dwell Private and still, Unlesse I will Another Voyage make to Hell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHACKLETON by MADELINE DEFREES AMERICA IS HARD TO SEE by ROBERT FROST CONCERNING THE RIGHT TO LIFE by JORIE GRAHAM THE HEAD ON THE TABLE by JOHN HAINES PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 1 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 2 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 3 by SIDNEY LANIER PSALM OF THE WEST: SONNET ON COLUMBUS: 4 by SIDNEY LANIER Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT Γενεθλιακον by JOSEPH BEAUMONT A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |
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