Welcome, though not to gold nor silk To more than Caesar’s birthright is, Two sister seas of virgin milk, With many a rarely-tempered kiss, That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warms in the one and cools in the other. She sings thy tears asleep, and dips Her kisses in thy weeping eye; She spreads the red leaves of thy lips That in their buds yet blushing lie: She ’gainst those mother-diamonds tries The points of her young eagle’s eyes. Welcome, though not to those gay flies Gilded i’ the beams of earthly kings, Slippery souls in smiling eyes, But to poor shepherds’ home-spun things; Whose wealth’s their flock, whose wit to be Well read in their simplicity. Yet when young April’s husband-showers Shall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed, We’ll bring the first-born of her flowers To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head: To Thee, dread Lamb, whose love must keep The shepherds more than they their sheep. To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King Of simple graces and sweet loves, Each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves, Till burnt at last in fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselves become our own best sacrifice. RICHARD CRASHAW 42. SATAN’S SIGHT OF THE NATIVITY Heaven’s golden-wingèd herald late he saw To a poor Galilean virgin sent: How long the bright youth bowed, and with what awe Immortal flowers to her fair hand present. He saw th’ old Hebrew’s womb neglect the law Of age and barrenness, and her babe prevent His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man. He saw rich nectar thaws release the rigour Of th’ icy north, from frost-bound Atlas’ hands His adamantine fetters fall; green vigour Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands. He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure Winter’s sad face, and through the flowery lands Of fair Engaddi’s honey-sweating fountains With manna, milk, and balm new broach the mountains. He saw how in that blest day-bearing night The heaven rebukèd shades made haste away; How bright a dawn of angels with new light Amazed the midnight world, and made a day Of which the morning knew not; mad with spight He mark’d how the poor shepherds ran to pay Their simple tribute to the Babe, whose birth Was the great business both of heaven and earth. He saw a threefold sun with rich increase Make proud the ruby portals of the East, He saw the temple sacred to sweet peace Adore her Prince’s birth flat on her breast. He saw the falling idols all confess A coming Deity. He saw the nest Of poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst, Touch’d with the world’s true antidote, to burst.