Thus,night,oft fee me in thy pale carreer,
Till civil-fuited morn appear,

Not trickt and frounet, as fhe was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kercheft in a comely cloud,

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While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or usher'd with a fhower ftill,

When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rufsling leaves, -
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And,when the fun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddess bring
To arched walks of twilight-groves,
And fhadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.

There in close covert by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,

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While the bee with honied thie,

That at her flow'ry work doth fing,

And the waters murmuring

With fuch confort,as they keep,

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Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep;

And let fome ftrange myfterious dream
Wave at his wings in aery stream
Of lively portraiture display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.

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And, as I wake, fweet mufic breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by fome Spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen Genius of the wood.

As

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may with sweetness, through mine ear, Diffolve me into extafies,

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And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of every ftar, that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every herb, that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.
Thefe pleafures,Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

I z

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XV.

ARCADE S.

Part of an Entertainment prefented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by fome noble Perfons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the feat of ftate, with this Song *.

Lo

I. SONG.

OOK Nymphs, and Shepherds, look,
What fudden blaze of majesty

Is that which we from hence descry,
Too divine to be mistook:

This, this is fhe

To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our folemn fearch hath end.

Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erft fo lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accufe

Of detraction from her praise;

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* This Lady must have been Alice, daughter of Sir John Spenfer of Althorp, Northamptonshire, and widow of Ferdinando Stanley the fifth Earl of Derby. And as Harefield is in Middlesex, and, according to Camden, lieth a little to the north of Uxbridge, we may conclude, that Milton made this poem while he refided in that neighbourhood with his father at Horton near Colebrooke. It should feem tog, that it was made before the Mask at Ludlow, as it is a more imperfect effay. And Frances the fecond daughter of this Countefs-dowager of Derby being married to John Earl of Bridgewater, before whom was prefented the Mask at Ludlow, we may conceive in some measure how Milton was induced to compofe the one after the other. The alliance between the families naturally and easily accounts for it; and in all probability, the Genius of the wood in this poem, as well as the attendant spirit in the Mafk, was Mr. Henry Lawes, who was the great mafter of mufic at that time, and taught moft of the young nobility.

Less than half we find exprest,
Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant ftate fhe spreads,
In circle round her fhining throne,
Shooting her beams like filver threads;
This, this is fhe alone,

Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the centre of her light.

Might the the wife Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,

Mother of a hundred Gods;

Juno dares not give her odds;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity fo unparallel'd?

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As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks.

GENIUS.

TAY, gentle Swains, for, though in this difguife,

SI fee bright honor sparkle through your eyes;

Ι

Of famous Arcady ye are, and fprung
Of that renowned flood, fo often fung,
Divine Alpheus, who by fecret fluce
Stole under feas to meet his Arethufe;
And ye, the breathing rofes of the wood,
Fair filver-buskin'd Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honor and devotion meant
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,

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And with all helpful fervice will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What shallow-fearching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft admidft thefe fhades alone
Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon :
For know by lot from Jove I am the Power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,
To nurfe the faplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plants I fave from nightly ill
Of noifome winds, and blafting vapors chill:
And from the boughs brufh off the evil dew,
And heal the arms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the crofs dire-looking planet fmites,
Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites.
When evening gray doth rife, I fetch my round.
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the flumb'ring leaves, or taffel'd horn.
Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about,
Number my ranks, and vifit every sprout

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With puiffant words, and murmurs made to blefs;
But elfe in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal fenfe, then liften I
To the celeftial Sirens' harmony,

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That fit upon the nine-infolded spheres,

And fing to thofe, that hold the vital fhears,

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And turn the adamantin spindle round,

On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.

Such fweet compulfion doth in mufic lic,

To lull the daughters of Neceffity,

And keep unfteady nature to her law,

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And the low world in measur'd motion draw