Not _So long she lived_ Will thy tomb report of thee; But _So long she grieved_: Thus must we date thy memory. Others by days, by months, by years, Measure their ages, thou by tears. Say, ye bright brothers, The fugitive sons of those fair eyes Your fruitful mothers, What make you here? What hopes can ’tice You to be born? What cause can borrow You from those nests of noble sorrow? Whither away so fast For sure the sordid earth Your sweetness cannot taste, Nor does the dust deserve your birth. Sweet, whither haste you then? O say, Why you trip so fast away? _We go not to seek_ _The darlings of Aurora’s bed,_ _The rose’s modest cheek,_ _Nor the violet’s humble head._ _No such thing: we go to meet_ _A worthier object--our Lord’s feet._ _338._ _A Hymn to the Name and Honour of the Admirable Saint Teresa_ Love, thou art absolute, sole Lord Of life and death. To prove the word, We’ll now appeal to none of all Those thy old soldiers, great and tall, Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down With strong arms their triumphant crown: Such as could with lusty breath Speak loud, unto the face of death, Their great Lord’s glorious name; to none Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne For love at large to fill. Spare blood and sweat: We’ll see Him take a private seat, And make His mansion in the mild And milky soul of a soft child. Scarce has she learnt to lisp a name Of martyr, yet she thinks it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death. She never undertook to know What death with love should have to do. Nor has she e’er yet understood Why, to show love, she should shed blood; Yet, though she cannot tell you why, She can love, and she can die. Scarce has she blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake; Yet has a heart dares hope to prove How much less strong is death than love.... Since ’tis not to be had at home, She’ll travel for a martyrdom. No home for her, confesses she, But where she may a martyr be. She’ll to the Moors, and trade with them For this unvalued diadem; She offers them her dearest breath, With Christ’s name in ’t, in change for death: She’ll bargain with them, and will give Them God, and teach them how to live In Him; or, if they this deny, For Him she’ll teach them how to die. So shall she leave amongst them sown Her Lord’s blood, or at least her own. Farewell then, all the world, adieu! Teresa is no more for you. Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys, Never till now esteemèd toys! Farewell whatever dear may be-- Mother’s arms, or father’s knee! Farewell house, and farewell home! She’s for the Moors and Martyrdom.