And turn the adamantine spindle round, On which the fate of Gods and Men is wound. And keep unsteady Nature to her law, And so attend ye toward her glittering state; II. SONG. O'ER the smooth enamell'd green Where no print of step hath been, And touch the warbled string, Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof. Follow me; I will bring you where she sits, Cold in splendour as befits Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen. III. SONG. NYMPHS and Shepherds, dance no more By sandy Ladon's lillied banks; A better soil shall give ye thanks. Bring your flocks, and live with us; To serve the Lady of this place. Through Syrinx your Pan's mistress were. Yet Syrinx well might wait on her. Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen. |