LYCIDA S. IN this Monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd, in his passage from Chefter, on the Irish feas, 1637. And by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height. BY THE SAME. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more. Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-fear, I com to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 10 Begin then, fifters of the facred well, 15 That from beneath the feat of Joue doth spring; Begin, and fomwhat loudly fweep the string: Hence with denial vain, and coy excufe: With lucky words favor my deftin'd urn, And as he paffes turn, And bid fair peace be to my fable fhrowd: For we were nurst upon the self-same hill, 20 Fed the fame flock, by fountain, fhade, and rill. Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, 30 Rough fatyrs danc'd, and fauns with cloven heel From the glad found would not be abfent long, 35 And old Damætas lov'd to hear our song. But O the heavy change, now thou art gon, Now thou art gon, and never must return! Thee, fhepherd, thee the woods and defert caves With wilde thyme and the gadding vine o'regrown, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or froft to flowers, that their gay wardrop wear, When first the white thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds ear. 50 Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the fhaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wifard stream: 55 Ay me, I fondly dream! Had ye bin there---for what could that have don? What could the Mufe herself that Orpheus bore? The Mufe herself for her inchanting fon, Whom univerfal nature did lament, 60 When by the rout that made the hideous roar, Were it not better don as others ufe, Or with the tangles of Nera's hair? Fame is the fpur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To fcorn delights, and live laborious dayes; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into fudden blaze, Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies, 80 Of fo much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. O fountain Arethufe, and thou honour'd floud, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And liftens to the herald of the fea That came in Neptune's plea ; He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the fellon winds, 90 What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ? They knew not of his story, And fage Hippotades their anfwer brings, 95 That not a blaft was from his dungeon ftray'd, Built in th' eclipfe, and rigg'd with curfes dark, That funk fo low that facred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 The pilot of the Galilean lake, Two maffy keyes he bore of metals twain, (The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain) 110 He shook his miter'd locks, and stern befpake, Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! 115 121 A fheep-hook, or have learn'd ought els the leaft And when they lift, their lean and flashy songs H |