The brood of folly without father bred, How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys; Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy fhapes poffefs, As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the Sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
The fickle Penfioners of Morpheus' train.
But hail thou Goddess, fage and holy,
Hail divineft Melancholy,
Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human fight;
And therefore to our weaker view,
O'er-laid with black ftaid Wisdom's hue:
Black, but fuch as in esteem,
Prince Memnon's Sifter might beseem,
Or that starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far defcended,
Thee bright-hair'd Vefta long of yore
To folitary Saturn bore;
His daughter fhe (in Saturn's reign,
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering bowres and glades
He met her, and in facred fhades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come penfive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, ftedfaft, and demure,
All in robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And sable stole of Cypress Lawn,
Over thy, decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thy felf to Marble, 'till
With a fad leaden downward caft,
Thou fix them on the earth as faft;
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hears the Mufes in a ring
Ay round about Jove's Altar fing.
And add to these retired Leifure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefeft, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hist along,
'Lefs Philomel will deign a Song,
In her sweetest, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night.
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke
Gently o'er th'accustom❜d Øke.
Sweet Bird that shunn'ft the noife of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee Chauntrefs of the Woods among, oft
I woo to hear thy Even-fong;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry fmooth-fhaven Green,
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the Heav'ns wide pathless way;
And oft as if her head the bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud,
Oft on a Plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhoar,
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 drowfie charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm;
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in fome high lonely Tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unfsphear
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold
Th' immortal Mind that hath forfook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe Damons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whofe power hath a true confent
With Planet, or with Element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In scepter'd Pall came fweeping by,
Prefenting 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 Mufaus from his bower,
Or bid the Soul of Orpheus fing
Such notes as, warbled to the ftring,
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