Poem by William Drummond

Sonnet on Hawthornden

DEAR wood, and you, sweet solitary place,
Where from the vulgar I estrangéd live,
Contented more with what your shades me give,
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace;
What snaky eye, grown jealous of my peace,
Now from your silent horrors would me drive,
When sun, progressing in his glorious race
Beyond the Twins, doth near our pole arrive?
What sweet delight a quiet life affords,
And what it is to be of bondage free,
Far from the maddening worldlings’ hoarse discords,
Sweet flowery place, I first did learn of thee:
Ah! if I were mine own, your dear resorts
I would not change with princes’ stately courts.

1. Like the Idalian Queen
2. Now While the Night Her Sable Veil Hath Spread
3. For the Baptist
4. Madrigal
5. Who Hath Not Seen into Her Saffron Bed

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