52
COWLEY'S POEMS.
Can you the shore inconstant call,
Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as lief the same waves always love,
Did they not from him move?
Or can you fault with pilots find
For changing course, yet never blame the wind?
Which still, as waves pass by, embraces all;
That had as lief the same waves always love,
Did they not from him move?
Or can you fault with pilots find
For changing course, yet never blame the wind?
Since, drunk with vanity, you fell,
The things turn round to you that steadfast dwell;
And you yourself, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of sight.
So the same error seizes you,
As men in motion think the trees move too.
The things turn round to you that steadfast dwell;
And you yourself, who from us take your flight,
Wonder to find us out of sight.
So the same error seizes you,
As men in motion think the trees move too.
THE WELCOME.
Go, let the fatted calf be kill'd;
My prodigal's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fill'd.
And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
My prodigal's come home at last,
With noble resolutions fill'd.
And fill'd with sorrow for the past:
No more will burn with love or wine;
But quite has left his women and his swine.
Welcome, ah! welcome, my poor heart!
Welcome! I little thought, I 'll swear
('T is now so long since we did part),
Ever again to see thee here:
Welcome! I little thought, I 'll swear
('T is now so long since we did part),
Ever again to see thee here:
