LYCIDAS. In this monody the Author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd in his passage from Chester, on the Irish seas, 1637, and by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favor my 5 10 15 destin'd urn, 20 25 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud: Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to th' oaten flute, 30 Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long, 35 And old Damætas lov'd to hear our song. 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, 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. 41 As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. 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, 52 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: 55 Had ye been there, for what could that have done? 60 When by the rout that made the hideous roar, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 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; Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 75 Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Set off to th' world, nor in broad Rumor lies, Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. 80 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 He ask'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 winds That blows from off each beak'd promontory; They knew not of his story, And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 95 100 Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that sanguin flower, inscrib'd with woe. Volume III. S Ah! who hath reft (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, Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115 Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd ought else the least 130 |