.80 I will assay, her worth to celebrate, NYMPHS and Shepherds, dance no more By sandy Ladon's lilied banks; On old Lycæus, or Cyllene hoar, Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore, A better soil shall give ye thanks. From the stony Manalus XVI. LYCIDAS. In this monody the author bewails a learned Friend, un fortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637, and by occasion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height. YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year: 5 10 Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, 15 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. With lucky words favour my destin'd urn; 20 And, as he passes, turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were rurst upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. 25 19. So may some gentle Muse".....Mave in the mas culine gender here means Poet. What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 30 Tow'ard Heav'n's descent had slop'd his west'ring wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to th' oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long; And old Damotas Jov'd to hear our song. 35 But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 40 And all their echoes mourn: The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 45 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 51 For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: 55 Had ye been there-for what could that have done? Alas! what boots it with incessant care 60 65 Were it not better done, as others use, Fame is the spur that the clear spi'rit doth raise To scorn delights, and live laborious days; Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies; Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, And listens to the herald of the sea 70 75 80 85 That came in Neptune's plea; 90 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd; Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, 89. "The herald of the sea"... Tritan. Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that sanguine flow'r inscrib'd with woe. "Ah! who hath rett (quoth he) my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go. The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain.) 110 He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 115 Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 125 130 A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least 120 135 130. "Two-handed engine".....the axe of reformation. |