But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloysters pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antic pillars massy proof,
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voic'd quire below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extafies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of every star that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Part of an Entertainment prefented to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Harefield, by fome noble perfons of her family, who appear on the scene in paftoral habit, moving toward the feat of state, with this Song.
OOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence defcry,
Too divine to be mistook :
To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our folemn fearch hath end.
Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise;
Lefs than half we find expreft,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like filver threads;
This, this is fhe alone,
Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.
Might she the wife Latona be,
Mother of a hundred Gods;
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
A deity fo unparrallel'd?
As they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears, and turning toward them, fpeaks.
TAY gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I fee bright honor sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often fung,
Divine Alpheus, who by fecret fluce
Stole under feas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye, the breathing roses of the wood,
Fair filver-buskin'd Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honor and devotion meant
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful fervice will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead ye where ye may more near behold 40
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades alone
Have fat 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 winds, and blasting vapors chill:
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet fmites,
Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites.
When evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground, 55
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the flumb'ring leaves, or tassel'd horn
Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
With puiffant words, and murmurs made to bless;
But else in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal fenfe, then liften I
To the celeftial Sirens harmony,
That fit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And fing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantin spindle round,
On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Neceffity,
And keep unsteddy Nature to her law,
And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heav'nly tune, which none can hear
Of human mold with grofs unpurged ear;
And yet fuch music worthieft were to blaze
The peerless highth of her immortal praise,
Whofe luftre leads us, and for her most fit,
my inferior hand or voice could hit Inimitable founds, yet as we go,
Whate'er the fkill of leffer Gods can fhow,
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,
And fo attend ye toward her glitterring flate;
all that are of noble stem
Approach, and kiss her facred vesture's hem.
'ER the smooth enamel'd
Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me as I fing,
And touch the warbled string,
Under the fhady roof
Of branching elm ftar-proof.
I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in fplendor as befits
|