Sadly fits th'Affyrian queen;
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid her fam'd fon advanc'd,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc'd,
After her wand'ring labors long,
Till free consent the Gods among
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted fide
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; fo Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin flow doth bend,
And from thence can foar as foon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love Virtue, she alone is free,
She can teach ye how to clime
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heav'n itself would ftoop to her.

1015

1020

1025

1030 XVII.

LYCIDAS.

In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd in his passage from Chester on the Irish feas, 1637. and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth.

Y

ET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more
Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never fere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc'd fingers rude

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint, and fad occafion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due:
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
Who would not fing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to fing, and build the lofty rhime.
He must not flote upon his watry bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of fome melodious tear.

Begin then, Sifters of the facred well,
That from beneath the feat of Jove doth spring,
Begin, and fomewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse,

So may fome gentle Muse

With lucky words favor my destin'd urn,
And as he passes turn,

5

10

15

20

And 25

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.
For we were nurst upon the self-fame hill,
Fed the fame flock by fountain, shade, and rill.
Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd
Under the opening eye-lids of the morn,
We drove a field, and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night,
Oft till the ftar that rose, at evening, bright,
Tow'ard Heav'n's defcent had flop'd his west'ring
Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, (wheel.
Temper'd to th'oaten flute,

30

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad found would not be absent long, 35 And old Damætas lov'd to hear our fong.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and defert 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.
As killing as the canker to the rofe,

45

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or froft to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear,

When first the white-thorn blows;

Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds ear.

Where 51

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, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: Ay me! I fondly dream

55

Had ye been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,

The Muse herself for her inchanting fon,

Whom universal nature did lament,

60

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the stream was fent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore?
Alas! What boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely flighted shepherd's trade,
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?

65

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;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,

And think to burst out into fudden blaze,

Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 75

And flits the thin spun life. But not the praise,

Phœbus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;

Fame

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil,
Nor in the glist'ring foil

Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies,

80

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,

And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;

As he pronounces lastly on each deed,

Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.

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 fea

That came in Neptune's plea;

90

He afk'd the waves, and ask'd the fellon winds,

What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every gust of rugged wings,

That blows from off each beaked promontory;

They knew not of his story,

95

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd,

The air was calm, and on the level brine

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,
That funk so low that facred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow,

His mantle hairy, and his bonnet fedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge

105