Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring 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 perhaps some beauty lies, The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; And then in haste her bow'r she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or if the earlier season lead, To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead. Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth, and many a maid, Dancing in the chequer'd shade; And young and old come forth to play On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long day-light fail; Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How fairy Mab the junkets eat; She was pinch'd and pull'd, she said, And he by friar's lanthorn led; Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat To earn his cream-l m-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn His shadowy flail had thresh'd the corn That ten day labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full, out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his mattin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. Tow'red 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 store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize
while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend : There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper elear; And Pomp, and Feast, and Revelry, With Mask and antique Pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream, On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon If Jonson's learned sock be on
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares 9 Lap me in soft Lydian airs 2 Married to immortal verse,
Such as the melting soul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running. Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden souls of Harmony: That Orpheus' self may heave his head. From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear.
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regain'd Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. MILTON.
Il Penseroso.
H2xcz, vain deluding joys,
The brood of Felly without Father bred! How little you bested,
Or fil the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies ford with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams!
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly 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, Or that starr'd Ethiope queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above
The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended: Yet thou art higher far descended;
The bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore ;
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign. Such mixture was not held a stain). Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive nun, dévout and pure, Sober, stedfast and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train ji And sable stole of cypress lawn, O'er thy decend shoulders drawn..
Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies, Thy wrapt soul sitting in thine eyes; There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble till,
With a sad leaden downward cast, Thou fix them on the earth as fast; 19 And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with Gods doth diet, And hears the muses in a ring,
Aye round about Jove's altar sing; And add to these retired Leisure
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; But first and chiefest with thee bring, Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery wheeled throne, The chernb Contemplation:
And the mute silence hiss'd along, 'Lest Philomel will deign a song, In her sweetest, saddest plight Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er the accustom'd oak:
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of Folly, Most musical, most melancholy !
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among, I woo to hear thy evening song: And, missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering moon, Riding near her highest noon. Like one that had been led astray Thro' the heav'n's wide pathless way: And oft as if her head she bow'd
Stooping thro' a thro' a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-off Curfew sound, Over some wide-water'd shore Swinging slow with sullen roar. Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth 2 Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour, Be seen in some high lonely tow'r, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vast regions hold The immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook : And of those dæmons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In scepter'd pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age, Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
But, O sad virgin, that thy power Might raise Museus from his bower Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek And made hell grant what love did seek ; Or call up him that left half-told, The story of Cambuscan bold Of Camball and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wond'rous horse of brass, On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
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