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, 5 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. 10 But come thou Goddess fair and free, The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 15 20 There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wafh'd in dew, Hafle thee Nymph, and bring with thee Jeft and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, 25 And love to live in dimple fleek; 30 Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his fides. On the light fantastic-toe. And in thy right hand lead with thee, 35 The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; To live with her and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; 40 45 Through the fweet-briar, or the vine, While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 50 And to the ftack, or the barn-door, Oft Oft lift'ning how the hounds and horn Chearly rouse the slumb'ring morn, Through the high wood echoing fhrill: 55 By hedge-row elms, on hillocs green, Where the great fun begins his ftate, 60 The clouds in thousand liveries dight, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, 65 And the milk-maid fingeth blithe, Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilft the landskip round it measures, 70 Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do ftray, Mountains on whofe barren breast Bofom'd high in tufted trees, The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes. 80 Hard Hard by, a cottage chimney fmokes, To the tann'd haycock in the mead. To many a youth, and many a maid, 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, Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet, To earn his cream-bowl duly set, His fhadowy flale hath thresh'd the corn, 100 105 That 95 90 That ten day-lab'rers could not end; Where throngs of knights and barons bold In faffron robe, with taper clear, Or sweetest Shakespear, fancy's child, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 110 115 120 125 130 135 Mar |