No doubt there are here touches of execrable taste, such as the punning trick with _man_ and _manners_, suggesting a false antithesis; or the opposition of the words _deprave_ and _deprive_; but we have in them only an instance of how the meretricious may co-exist with the lovely. The passage is fine and powerful, notwithstanding its faults and obscurities. Here is another yet more beautiful: So down the silver streams of Eridan,[90] On either side banked with a lily wall, Whiter than both, rides the triumphant swan, And sings his dirge, and prophesies his fall, Diving into his watery funeral! But Eridan to Cedron must submit His flowery shore; nor can he envy it, If, when Apollo sings, his swans do silent sit.[91] That heavenly voice I more delight to hear Than gentle airs to breathe; or swelling waves Against the sounding rocks their bosoms tear;[92] Or whistling reeds that rutty[93] Jordan laves, And with their verdure his white head embraves; _adorns._ To chide the winds; or hiving bees that fly About the laughing blossoms[94] of sallowy,[95] Rocking asleep the idle grooms[96] that lazy lie. And yet how can I hear thee singing go, When men, incensed with hate, thy death foreset? Or else, why do I hear thee sighing so, When thou, inflamed with love, their life dost get,[97] That love and hate, and sighs and songs are met? But thus, and only thus, thy love did crave To send thee singing for us to thy grave, While we sought thee to kill, and thou sought'st us to save. When I remember Christ our burden bears, I look for glory, but find misery; I look for joy, but find a sea of tears; I look that we should live, and find him die; I look for angels' songs, and hear him cry: Thus what I look, I cannot find so well; Or rather, what I find I cannot tell, These banks so narrow are, those streams so highly swell. We would gladly eliminate the few common-place allusions; but we must take them with the rest of the passage. Besides far higher merits, it is to my ear most melodious. One more passage of two stanzas from Giles Fletcher, concerning the glories of heaven: I quote them for the sake of earth, not of heaven. Gaze but upon the house where man embowers: With flowers and rushes pavéd is his way; Where all the creatures are his servitours: The winds do sweep his chambers every day, And clouds do wash his rooms; the ceiling gay, Starréd aloft, the gilded knobs embrave: If such a house God to another gave, How shine those glittering courts he for himself will have!