XIII.

L'ALLEGRO.

ENCE loathed Melancholy,

HE

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn

(unholy, 'Mongst horrid fhapes, and fhrieks, and fights Find out fome uncouth cell,

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Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous And the night-raven fings;

(wings,

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.

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But come thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-eafing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some fager fing)

The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,

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There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses wafh'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Hafle 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,

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And love to live in dimple fleek;

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Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it as you go

On the light fantastic-toe.

And in thy right hand lead with thee,

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The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor 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-tow'r in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spight of forrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,

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Through the fweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:

While the cock with lively din

Scatters the rear of darkness thin,

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And to the ftack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly ftruts his dames before:

Oft

Oft lift'ning how the hounds and horn

Chearly rouse the slumb'ring morn,
From the fide of fome hoar hill,

Through the high wood echoing fhrill:
Some time walking not unseen

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By hedge-row elms, on hillocs green,
Right against the eastern gate,

Where the great fun begins his ftate,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,

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The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the plow-man near at hand

Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,

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And the milk-maid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And every fhepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures

Whilft the landskip round it measures,

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Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do ftray,

Mountains on whofe barren breast
The lab'ring clouds do often rest,

Bofom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,

The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes.

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Hard

Hard by, a cottage chimney fmokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favory dinner fet
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in hafte her bow'r fhe leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the fheaves;
Or if the earlier feafon lead

To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with fecure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecs found

To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd fhade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holy-day,

Till the live-long day-light fail;

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With flories told of many a feat,

How faery Mab the junkets eat,

She was pincht, and pull'd she said,
And he by friars lanthorn led

Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet,

To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,

His fhadowy flale hath thresh'd the corn,

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That

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That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And ftretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy ftrength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the firft cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whisp'ring winds foon lull'd asleep.
Towred cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With ftore of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear

In faffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry,
Such fights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod ftage anon,
If Johnson's learned fock be on,

Or sweetest Shakespear, fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,

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