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Thai jwned the virtuous ring and glass:
And if the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride:
And if aught else great ba.nU beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.

Thus, night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Tdl civil-suited morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerehefl in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown hi s fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And, when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring,
To arehed walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,
Was n;ver heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
Wliere no profaner eye may look,
Hide tns from day's garish eye;
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing
And the waters murmuring,
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid.
And, as I wake, sweet music breatht
About, above, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antic pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light: There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear, A• may with sweetness, through mine «ar, Dfcwolve me mto eestacies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell

Of every star that heaven drth show
And every heri, that sips the dew:
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live.


Pan of an entertainment presented to the Countets Dotcaf* of Derby at Harefield, by some noble peratns of her fami l7; who appear on the scene in pmoral tabu, moving is ward the seat of etate, with this song.

Look, nymphs and shepherds, look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence desery,
Too rfivine to be mistook:

Thu, this is she
To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our solemn seareh hath end.
Fame, that, her high worth to raise,
Seemed erst so lavish and profuse,
We may just now aecuse
Of detraction from her praise;

Less than half we find exprest,

Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark, what radiant state she spreads,
In cirele round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threads;
This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a goddess bright,

In the centre of her light.
Might she the wise Latona be,'

Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred godsl
Juno dares not give her odds;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparalleled!

La they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears, and turning towards them, •peaka.


Stay, gentle swains, for, though in this disgoue see bright honour sparkle through your eyes; Of famous Aready ye are, and sprung Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by seeret sluice Stole under seas to meet his Arethusr, And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, ''air silver buskined nymphs, as great .m> good, know this quest of yours, and free intent, iV'.i:; all in honour and devotion meant To the great mistress of yon princely shrine. Whom with low reverence I adore as mine; And, with nil helpful service will comply To further this night's glad solemnity;

And lead le where ye may more near behold
What shallow searching fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone,
Hare sat to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know, by lot from Jove, I am the power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plants I save from nightly ill
Of noisome wtnds, and blasting vapours chill:
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the eross dire looking planet smites,
Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites.
When evening gray doth rise, I feteh my round
Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground;
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasseled horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless.
But else in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Syren's harmony,
That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears.
And turn the adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men n wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measured motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear:
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze
The peerless height of her immortal praise,
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds: yet, as we go,
Whate'er the skill of lesser gods can show,
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
And so attend ye toward her glittering state;
Where ye may all, that are of noble stem,
Approach, and kiss her saered vesture's hem.

O'er the smooth enameled green, Where no print of step hath been

Follow me, as I sing

And touch the warbled string, Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof.

Follow me:

I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendour as befits,

Her deity.
Such a rural queen
AU Arcadia hath not seen.

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more

By sandy Ladon's tilled banks: On old Lyeams, or Cyllene hoar,

Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore,

A better soil shall give ye thanks. From the stony Msnalus Bring your flocks, and live with us; Here ye shall have greater grace, To serve the lady of this place. Though Syrini your Pan's mistress were, Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.


n thb monody the author bewails a learned Friend, nrfon* luuely drowned In his passage from Chester or. the li it •eaa, 1637, and by oecasion foretells the ruin of our ym rupted clergy, then in their height.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and erude,
And, with forced fingers rude,
Shatter your leaves he fore the mellowing year:
Bitter constraint, ami sad oceasion dear,
Compels me to disturb your season due:
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lyci,ias, and has not left his peer:
Who would not sing for Lyeidas ? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon hu watery bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious teat.

Begin then, sisters of the saered well,
That from beneath the seat of jove doth spring
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse
So may some gentle Muse*
With lucky words favour my destined urn;
And, as he passes, turn,
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill,
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared
Under the opening eyelids of the morn,
We drove alield, and both together heard
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright,
Toward Heaven's descent had sloped his wester
ing wheel.

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Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute,
Tempered to the oaten flute;
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long;
And old Dameetas loved to hear our song.

But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown,
And all their echoes mourn:
The willows, and the hazel copses green,
Shall now no more be seen
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays,
As killing as the canker to the rose,
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the whitethorn blows;
Such, Lyeidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear.

Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless


Closed over the head of your loved Lyeidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old bards, the famous Druids lie,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:
Ah me! I fondly dream!

Had ye been there—for what could that have donel
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His gory visnge down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to tiie Lesbian shore?

Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse'l
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Nesera's hairl
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raue
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days:
But the fair g jerdon, when we hope to find,
And think lo burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears,
And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise,"
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears:
"Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glistering foil
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies:
Rut lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all judging Jove;
As ue pronounces lastly on each deed,
Ol ic much fame in Heaven expect thy meed."

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, Smooth-sliding Mincius, erowned with vocal


That strain I hea.d was of a higher mood:
But now my oat proceeds,

And listens to the herald of the sea*

That came in Neptune's plea:

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds,

What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain:

And questioned every gust of rugged wings,

That blows from off each beaked promontory:

They know not of his story;

And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed:

The air was calm, and on the level brine

Sleek Fanope with all her sisters played.

It was that fatal and perfidious bark,

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark,

That sunk so low that saered head of thine.

Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inseribed with wo. 'Ah! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?' Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twatn, (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: "How well could 1 have spared for thee, young


Enow of such as for their bellies' sake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to seramble at the shearer's feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest:
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how

to hold

A sheephook, or have learned aught else the least That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They an


And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their serannel pipes of wretehed straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swollen with wind and the rank mist they


Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spreau:
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said:
But that two-handed enginet at the door,
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more."

Return, Alphrus, the dread voice is past,
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast
Their hclls, and flow'rets of a thousand hues
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and pushing brooks.
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks;
Throw hit her all your quaint enameled eyes,
That on the green turf suck the honied shower,

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And purple all the ground with vernal flowers.
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted erowtoe, and pale jessamine,
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet,
The glowing violet,

The rauakrose, and the well attired woodbine,
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears:
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,
And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureat hearse where Lyeid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Lei our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ah me? Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,*
Where the great vision of the guarded mount
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more,
For Lyeidas your sorrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor;
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lyeidas sunk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the


Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And bears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love,
There entertain him all the saints above,

'" The/aklt of Bellerut old," ic. The Ik llerian promontory or Land's em| in Cornwall, near which l s Mount St. MK.Sael, a fnnreat on a rock, named from a supposed vision sr spiBritinn .,f si. Michael

In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move,
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes.
Now, Lyeidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Hencefort h thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks anj


While the still morn went out with sandals giay;
He touched the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretehed out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay:
At last he rose, and twitehed his mantle blue;
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.


Because you have thrown ofl" your prelate lord,
And with stiff vows renounced his liturgy,
To seize the widowed whore Plurality
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred;

Dare ye for this abjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic hierarchy
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford?

Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,
Must now he named and printed heretics

By shallow Edwards and Scoteh what d'ye call: But we do hope to find out all your tricks, Your plots and packing worse than those of Trent.

That so the parliament

May with their wholesome and preventive shears.

Clip your phylacteries, though bauk vour earn,

And suceour our just fears

When they shall read this clearly in vour ebargr,

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.



O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblebt at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend suecess in love; O if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,

Now tii lely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom in some grore nigh;
A« thou from year to year hast sung too late

For my relief, yethod'st no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love call thec his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.


How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twenlieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud nor blossom showeth.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
Tbi'i I to manhood am arrived so near;
And inward ripeness doth much loss appear.
That some more timely happy spirits indueth.

Vet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which time leads me, and the will of


All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskraaker's eye.

I;sptain, or colonel, or knight in arms,

Whos.> chance on these defenceless doors may


If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from


He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and


Whatever clime the sun's bright cirele warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: T^c great Ematbian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra's port had the power To uvc the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth

Wisely hast shunned the broadway and the


And with those few art eminently scon, That labour up the hill of heavenly truth, The better part with Mary and with Ruth Chosen thou hast; and they thas overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their splern, No anger find in thee, but piety and ruth. Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of Ut^ht, And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be

sure Thou, when the bridegroom with his &&kuui


Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and pure


Daughter to that good carl, once president
Of England's council and her treasury,
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or feu,
And left them both, more in himself content,

Till sad the breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chffironca, fatal to liberty,
Killed with report that old man eloquent.

Though later born than to have known the tiavt
Wherein your father flouished, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;

So well your words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honoured Margaret.


A Book was writ of late called Tctrachordon,
And woven close, both nutter, form, and stvle:
The subject new: it walked the town a while,
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pornI


Cries the stall-reader, Bless us! what a word on
A title page is this! and some in file
Stand spelling false, while one might wilk tc

End Green. Why is it harder, Sin, than Oor.


Colkitto, or Maedonnel, or Galasp? Those rugged names to our like mouths grow •leek,

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