On whose fresh lap the fwart Star fparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied fhowres,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowres.
Bring the rathe Primrose that forfaken dies,
The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Jeffamine,
The white Pink, and the Panfie freakt with jeat,
The glowing Violet,
The Musk-rofe, and the well-attir'd Woodbine, With Cowflips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that fad embroidry wears: Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And Daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrew the Laureat Herse where Lycid lies.
For fo to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ah me! Whilst thee the shores, and founding Seas
Wash far away, where-e'er thy bones are hurl'd,
Whether beyond the ftormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great Vifion of the guarded Mount
Looks toward Naymancos and Boyona's hold;
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas, your forrow, is not dead,
Sunk tho' he be beneath the watry floar;
So finks the day-star in the Ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled Ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high, [waves,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the
Where other groves, and other streams along,
With Nectar pure his oozy Locks he laves,
And hears the unexpreffive nuptial Song,
In the bleft Kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops, and sweet societies,
That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the Shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompenfe, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous floud.
Thus fang the uncouth Swain to th' Okes and rills, While the ftill morn went out with Sandals gray, He touch'd the tender ftops of various Quills, With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay: And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the Western Bay: At last he rofe, and twitch'd his Mantle blew; To-morrow to Fresh Woods, and Paftures new,
Ence loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackeft midnight born,
In Stygian Cave forlorn
'Mong horrid fhapes, and fhrieks, and fights un
Find out fome uncouth cell,
Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous And the night-Raven sings;
There under Ebon fhades, and low-brow'd
As ragged as thy Locks,
In dark Cimmerian defart ever dwell,
But come thou Goddefs fair and free,
In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrofne,
And by men, heart-eafing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two Sifter Graces more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore
Or whether (as fome Sages fing)
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring,
Zephir with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on beds of Violets blue,
And fresh-blown Rofes washt in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buckfom, blith, and debonnair.
Hafte thee Nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple fleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastick toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The Mountain Nymph, fweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the Lark begin his flight,
And finging startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
'Till the dappled dawn doth rife;
Then to come in fpight of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine.
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