IL PENSEROSO. HENCE, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred, How little you bested, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys? Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likeliest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. Whose faintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem, Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, The sea-nymphs, and their pow'rs offended: His daughter she, (in Saturn's reign While yet there was no fear of Jove. |