Come, but keep thy wonted ftate,
With even step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine eyes :
There held in holy paffion ftill,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a fad 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,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Ay round about Jove's altar fing:
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation;
And the mute Silence hift along,
And miffing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the Heav'n's wide pathless way,
And oft, as if her head fhe bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rifing ground,
I heard the far-off Curfeu found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar;
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all refort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the belman's drowsy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp at midnight hour,
Be feen in some high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unfphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forfook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe Demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true confent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy
In scepter'd 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 buskin'd stage.
But, O fad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
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 Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if ought elfe great bards befide
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus night oft see me in thy pale carreer.
Till civil-fuited morn appear,
Not trickt and frounct as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or usher'd with a shower still,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the fun 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 ax with heaved stroke
Was never heard the Nymph's to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome Spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloysters pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antic pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voic'd quire below,
In fervice high, and anthems clear,
with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extafies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at laft my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly fpell
Of every star that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
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