Sadly fits th' Affyrian queen; But far above in fpangled fheen Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd, And from her fair unspotted side I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, 1015 1020 Where the bow'd welkin flow doth bend, 1025 And from thence can foar as soon To the corners of the moon. Mortals that would follow me, Love Virtue, fhe alone is free, Heav'n itself would ftoop to her. 1030 XVII. LYCIDA S. In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd in his paffage from Chefter on the Irish feas, 1637. and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth. ET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more YE Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude Shatter leaves before the mellowing year. your Bitter constraint, and fad occafion dear, Begin then, Sifters of the facred well, That from beneath the feat of Jove doth spring, So may fome gentle Muse coy excufe, With lucky words favor my deftin'd urn, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 And 25 And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel 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 feen, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or froft to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear, When firft the white-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds ear. 45 Where Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie, 51 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: 55 Had ye been there, for what could that have done? When by the rout that made the hideous roar, 60 Alas! What boots it with inceffant care 65 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spi'rit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; 75 Fame Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil, Nor in the glift'ring foil Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. 80 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And liftens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea; He afk'd the waves, and ask'd the fellon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every guft of rugged wings, 90 That blows from off each beaked promontory; They knew not of his story, 95 And fage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon ftray'd, Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, 100 105 |