"'Tis Love's great artillery Which here contracts itself and comes to lie Close couched in your white bosom, and from thence As from a snowy fortress of defence Against the ghostly foe to take your part, And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. "It is the armory of light, Let constant use but keep it bright, You'll find it yields To holy hands and humble hearts, More swords and shields Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. Only be sure The hands be pure That hold these weapons, and the eyes Those of turtles, chaste and true, Wakeful and wise. "Here is a friend shall fight for you; Hold this book before your heart, Let prayer alone to play his part. "But O! the heart That studies this high art, Must be a sure housekeeper, And yet no sleeper. "Dear soul, be strong, Mercy will come ere long, And bring her bosom full of blessings; Flowers of never-fading graces To make immortal dressings For worthy souls, whose wise embraces Store up themselves for him, who is alone The spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son. "But if the noble bridegroom when he come Shall find the wandering heart from home, Leaving her chaste abode To gad abroad Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies, To take her pleasures, and to play And keep the devil's holiday; To dance in the sunshine of some smiling But beguiling Spear of sweet and sugared lies; Some slippery pair Of false, perhaps as fair, Flattering, but forswearing eyes, Doubtless some other heart Will get the start, And stepping in before, Will take possession of the sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy joys, Words which are not heard with ears (Those tumultuous shops of noise), Effectual whispers, whose still voice The soul itself more feels than hears; Amorous languishments, luminous trances, Sights which are not seen with eyes; Spiritual and soul-piercing glances, Whose pure and subtle lightning flies Home to the heart and sets the house on fire, And melts it down in sweet desire, Yet doth not stay To ask the window's leave to pass that way. An hundred thousand loves and graces, And many a mystic thing Which the divine embraces, Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring, For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name. Of all this hidden store Of blessings, and ten thousand more, If when he come He find the heart from home, Doubtless he will unload Himself some otherwhere, And pour abroad His precious sweets On the fair soul whom first he meets." SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY. THURSDAY, 10.