And sable stole of cypress lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: There, held in holy passion still, 150 Forget thyself to marble, till
Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head 145 From golden slumber on a bed Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 46 And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing; And add to these retirèd Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; 50 But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel3 will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustomed oak.
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of train.
But hail, thou Goddess sage and holy,
Hail, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song;
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea nymphs', and their powers of fended.
Yet thou art higher far descended: Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign. Such mixture was not held a stain). Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train,
There in close covert by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee, with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring,
With such consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid;
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold 90 The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or underground, Whose power hath a true consent, With planet or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptered pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad Virgin! that thy power Might raise Musæus from his bower; Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did seek; Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife That owned the virtuous1 ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass, On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the And every herb that sips the dew, Till old experience do attain
Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale,3 And love the high embowèd roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight,4 Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below In service high and anthems clear As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell5 Of every star that heaven doth shew,
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, To something like prophetic strain.
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked2 and frounced as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchieft in a comely cloud, While rocking winds are piping loud; Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute-drops from off the eaves. 130 And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe with heavèd stroke Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 1 magical.
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing With wild thyme and the gadding vine
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, Had ye been there for what could that and rill;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
186 While the still morn went out with sandals grey;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,8
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190
And now was dropped into the western bay. At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue:
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures
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