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 th' Assyrian queen ; But far above in spangled sheen. Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd, Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc'd, After her wand'ring labors long,
Till free consent the gods among Make her his eternal bride, And from her fair unspotted side Two blissful twins are to be born, Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend, And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.
Mortals that would follow me, Love Virtue, she alone is free, She can teach you how to clime Higher than the sphery chime ; Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would stoop to her.
HENCE loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn
[holy, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks,and sights un-, Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous And the night raven sings;
There under ebon shades and low brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come thou Goddess fair and free, In Heav'n, ycleap'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring, Zephyr with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying, There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee Nymph, and bring with thee Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it as you go
To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull Night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled Dawn doth rise; Then to come in spite of Sorrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine :
While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of Darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn, Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring Morn, From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill :
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocs green, Right against the eastern gate, Where the great Sun begins his state, Rob'd in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight, While the plow-man near at hand Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his sithe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landskip round it measures, Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The lab'ring clouds do often rest, Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks and rivers wide. Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perphaps some beauty lies, The Cynosure of neighb'ring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, Are at their savory dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses ;
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in, Bearing her strait to aged Nereus' hall, 835 Who piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head, And gave her to his daughters to imbathe In nectar'd lavers strow'd with asphodil,' And through the porch and inlet of each sense Dropt in ambrosial oils till she reviv'd, And underwent a quick immortal change, Made Goddess of the river; still she retains Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs That the shrewd medling elfe delights to make, Which she with precious vial'd liquors heals For which the shepherds at their festivals Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy daffadils.
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock
The clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell, If she be right invok'd in warbled song,
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift
To aid a virgin, such as was herself, In hard-besetting need; this will I try, And add the power of some adjuring verse.
Listen where thou art sitting
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