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Britannia Rediviva: A Poem on the Birth of the Prince

Our vows are heard betimes, and heaven takes care

To grant, before we can conclude the prayer;

Preventing angels met it half the way,

And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.

Just on the day, when the high-mounted sun

Did farthest in his northern progress run,

He bended forward, and even stretched the sphere

Beyond the limits of the lengthened year,

by John Henry Dryden

Life a Cheat

When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;

Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;

Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:

To-morrow's falser than the former day;

Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blessed

With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed.

Strange cozenage! none would live past years again,

Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain;

by John Henry Dryden

The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part I

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged,

Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged;

Without unspotted, innocent within,

She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.

Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds,

And Scythian shafts; and many winged wounds

Aimed at her heart; was often forced to fly,

And doomed to death, though fated not to die.

by John Henry Dryden

Eleonora : A Panegyrical

Dedicated to the Memory of the Late Countess of Abingdon.

As when some great and gracious monarch dies,

Soft whispers first and mournful rise

Among the sad attendants; then the sound

Soon gathers voice and spreads the news around,

Through town and country, till the dreadful blast

Is blown to distant colonies at last;

Who then perhaps were offering vows in vain

by John Henry Dryden

Religio Laici

(OR A LAYMAN'S FAITH)

Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars

To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,

Is reason to the soul; and as on high,

Those rolling fires discover but the sky

Not light us here; so reason's glimmering ray

Was lent not to assure our doubtful way,

But guide us upward to a better day.

by John Henry Dryden

An Ode, On the Death of Mr Henry Purcell

Late Servant to his Majesty, and Organist of the Chapel Royal, and of St. Peter's Westminster

Mark how the Lark and Linnet Sing,

With rival Notes

They strain their warbling Throats,

To welcome in the Spring.

But in the close of Night,

When Philomel begins her Heav'nly lay,

by John Henry Dryden

Song to a Fair Young Lady

Ask not the cause why sullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;

Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year:

Chloris is gone; and fate provides

To make it Spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye:

by John Henry Dryden

Can life be a blessing

Can life be a blessing,

Or worth the possessing,

Can life be a blessing if love were away?

Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking,

And though he torment us with cares all the day,

Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking,

There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay.

In ev'ry possessing,

by John Henry Dryden

Cymon And Iphigenia From Boccace

Old as I am, for lady's love unfit,

The power of beauty I remember yet,

Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires my wit.

If love be folly, the severe divine;

Has felt that folly, though he censures mine;

Pollutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace,

Acts what I write, and propagates in grace,

With riotous excess, a priestly race.

John Henry Dryden

The Secular Masque

Enter JANUS

JANUS

Chronos, Chronos, mend thy pace,

An hundred times the rolling sun

Around the radiant belt has run

In his revolving race.

Behold, behold, the goal in sight,

Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight.

by John Henry Dryden

Ah, how sweet it is to love!

AH, how sweet it is to love!

Ah, how gay is young Desire!

And what pleasing pains we prove

When we first approach Love's fire!

Pains of love be sweeter far

Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown

Do but gently heave the heart:

by John Henry Dryden

You charm'd me not with that fair face

Though it was all divine:

To be another's is the grace,

That makes me wish you mine.

The Gods and Fortune take their part

Who like young monarchs fight;

And boldly dare invade that heart

Which is another's right.

by John Henry Dryden