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Thus night oft fee me in thy palecarreer.

Till civil-suited morn appear,

Not trickt and frounct as she was wont

With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kercheft in a comely cloud, 125

While rocking winds are piping loud,

Or usher'd with a shower still,

When the gust hath blown his fill,

Ending on the rustling leaves.

With minute drops from osf the eaves. 130

And when the fun begins to fling

His flaring beams, me Goddess bring

To arched walks of twilight groves,

And shadows brown that Sylvan loves

Of pine, or monumental oak, 135

Where the rude ax with heaved stroke

Was never heard the Nymph's to daunt,

Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.

There in close covert by some brook,

Where no profaner eye may look, 140

Hide me from day's garish eye,

While the bee with honied thie,

That at her flow'ry work doth sing,

And the waters murmuring

With such consort as they keep, 145

Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep;

And let some strange misterious dream

Wave at his wings in aery stream

Of Of lively portraiture display'd,

Softly on my eye-lids laid. 150

And as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,

Or th' unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail 155

To walk the studious cloysters pale,

And love the high embowed roof,

With antic pillars massy proof,

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light. 160

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,

Dissolve me into extasies, 165

And bring all Heav'n 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 170

Of every star that Heav'n doth shew,

And every herb that sips the dew;

Till old experience do attain

To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures Melancholy give, 175

And I with thee will choose to live.




Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby, at Harefield, by some noble persons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the feat of slate, with this Song.

. I. S 0 X G.

LOOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry,
Too divine to be mistook:

This, this is she 5

To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our solemn search hath end.

Fame, that her high worth to raise,

Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,

We may justly now accuse 10

Of detraction from her praise;

Less than half we find exprest,

Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant state she spreads,

In circle round her shining throne, 15

Shooting her beams like silver threads;

This, this is she alone,


Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.

Might she the wise Latona be, 20

Or the tovvred Cybele,

Mother os a hundred Gods;

Juno dares not give her odds;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparrallel'd? 25

As they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks.


STAY gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I see bright honor sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often sung,
Divine Alpheus, who by secret fluce 30

Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye, the breathing roses of the wood,
Fair silver-buskin'd Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honor and devotion meant 35

To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful service will comply
To further this nights glad solemnity;

And 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, 45

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, 50

And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,

Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,

Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites.

When evening gray doth rife, 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, 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 61

Hath lock'd up mortal fense, then listen I

To the celestial Sirens harmony,

That fit upon the nine infolded spheres,

And sing to those that hold- the vital shears, 65

And turn the adamantin spindle round,

On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.

D d Such

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