Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A PASTORAL OF TASSO, by SAMUEL DANIEL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A PASTORAL OF TASSO, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O happy golden age
Last Line: Comes once to set, it makes eternal night.
Subject(s): Country Life; Grief; Life; Love; Nature; Sorrow; Sadness


O happy golden age!
Not for that rivers ran
With streams of milk, and honey dropped from trees;
Not that the earth did gage
Unto the husbandman
Her voluntary fruits, free without fees;
Not for no cold did freeze,
Nor any cloud beguile
Th' eternal flow'ring spring,
Wherein lived ev'rything,
And whereon th' heav'ns perpetually did smile;
Not for no ship had brought
From foreign shores or wars or wares ill sought;
But only for that name,
That idle name of wind,
That idol of deceit, that empty sound
Called Honor, which became
The tyrant of the mind,
And so torments our nature without ground,
Was not yet vainly found,
Nor yet sad griefs imparts
Amidst the sweet delights
Of joyful am'rous wights;
Nor were his hard laws known to free-born hearts;
But golden laws like these,
Which nature wrote: "That's lawful which doth please."
Then amongst flowers and springs,
Making delightful sport,
Sat lovers without conflict, without flame;
And nymphs and shepherds sings,
Mixing in wanton sort
Whisp'rings with songs, then kisses with the same,
Which from affection came.
The naked virgin then
Her roses fresh reveals,
Which now her veil conceals,
The tender apples in her bosom seen;
And oft in rivers clear
The lovers with their loves consorting were.
Honor, thou first didst close
The spring of all delight,
Denying water to the am'rous thirst;
Thou taught'st fair eyes to lose
The glory of their light,
Restrained from men, and on themselves reversed.
Thou in a lawn didst first
Those golden hairs encase,
Late spread unto the wind;
Thou mad'st loose grace unkind;
Gav'st bridle to their words, art to their pace.
O Honor, it is thou
That mak'st that stealth, which love doth free allow;
It is thy work that brings
Our griefs and torments thus.
But thou, fierce lord of nature and of love,
The qualifier of kings,
What dost thou here with us,
That are below thy power, shut from above?
Go, and from us remove;
Trouble the mighty's sleep;
Let us, neglected, base,
Live still without thy grace,
And th' use of th' ancient happy ages keep.
Let's love; this life of ours
Can make no truce with time, that all devours.

Let's love; the sun doth set and rise again,
But whenas our short light
Comes once to set, it makes eternal night.





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