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The Dances ended, the Spirit epiloguisęs. Sp. To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky: There I suck the liquid air All amidst the gardens fair Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree: Along the crisped shades and bowers Revels the spruce and jocund Spring; The Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours Thither all their bounties bring; There eternal Summer dwells, And West-Winds, with musky wing, About the cedar'd alleys fling Nard and Cassia's balmy smells. Iris there with humid bow Waters the odorous banks, that blow Flowers of more mingled hue Than her purfled scarf can shew; And drenches with Elysian dew (List, mortals, if your ears be true) Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound In slumber soft, and on the ground Sadly sits the' Assyrian queen: But far above in spangled sheen Celestial Cupid, her fam'd son, advanc'd, Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranc'd, After her wandering labours long, Till free consent the gods among ,
Make her his eternal bride,
But now my task is smoothly done,
Mortals, that would follow me,
In this MonodY, the author bewails a learned friend,*
unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637: and by occasion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height.
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 2 Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; And, with forc'd fingers rude, 3 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year : 6 Bitter constraipt, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season dụe:31 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 9 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
Who would not sing for Lycidas ? He knew H Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
*Edward King, Esq. the son of Sir John King, knight, secretary for Ireland. He was sailing from Chester to Ireland, on a visit to his friends in that country, when, in calm weather, not far from the English coast, the ship struck upon a rock, and suddenly sunk to the bottom with all that were on board, August 10, 1637. Mr. King was a fellow of Christ's CoHege, Cambridge.
1 ? He must not float upon his watery bier
Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, I · That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring;? *
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Bi
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse: jo ☆ So may some gentle Muse
With lucky words favour my destin'd urn;'s
But, О the heavy change, now thou art gone,