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In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus Night oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited 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,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, mc goddess bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs 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,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,
With such consorts as they keep,
£ntice the dewy-feather'd sleep:

And let some strange mysterious dream

Wave at his wings in aery stream

Of lively portraiture display'd,

Softly on my eye-lids laid.

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some spirit to mortals good,

Or th' unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloisters pale,

And love the high embowed roof,

With antic pillars massy proof,

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light.

There let the pealing organ blow,

To the full voie'd quire below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into extasies,

And bring all Heav'n 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 spell

Of every star that Heav'n doth shew,

And every herb that sips the dew;

Till old Experience do attain

To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy ! give,

And I with thee will choose to live.


Par t oftheEntertainment presented to thtCountessDowa%cr of Derby, at Harefteld, by some noble persons of htr family, 'who appear on the scene in pastoralhabit, movinr toward the seat of state, "with this song.

J-»oOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry,
Too divine to be mistook!

This, this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our solemn search hath end.
Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise;
Less than half we find cxprest,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threads;
This, this is she alone.

Sitting like a goddess bright,

In the center of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods;
Juno dares not give her odds;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparallel'd?

As they come forward the Genius of the 'wood appears, and turning toward them, speahs.

Gen. Stay, gentle Swains, foi though in this disguise, I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes; Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, Fair silver-buskin'd Nymphs as great and good, I know this quest of yours, and free-intent Was all in honour and devotion meant To the great mistress of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all helpful service will comply To further this night's glad solemnity; And lead ye where ye may more near behold What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold } Which I full oft amidst these shades alone Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon: for know by lot from Jove I am the power Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,

To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plants I save from nightly ill
Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill:
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,'
Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites.
When Evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all his hallow'd ground,
And early ere the odorous breath of Morn
Awakes the slumb'ring leaves, or tassel'd horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless;
But else in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens' harmony,
That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantin spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heav'nly tune, which none can hear
Of human mold with gross unpurged ear;
And yet such music worthiest were to blase
The peerless hight of her immortal praise,

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