Of heap'd Elyfian flow'rs, and hear
Such ftrains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto to have quite fet free
His half-regain'd Eurydice.
Thefe delights, if thou canft give,
Mirth, with thee i mean to live.
IL PENSEROSO.
HENCE, vain delud ng joys,
The brood of Folly, without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys?
Dwell in fome idle brain,
And fancies fond w th gaudy fhapes poffefs,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the fun-beams,
Or likeft hovering dreams,
The fickle penfioners of Morpheus' train.
But hail, thou Goddess, fage and holy!
Hail, divineft Velancholy!
Whofe faintly vifage is too bright
To hit the fenfe of human fight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, ftaid Wifdom's hue;
Black, but fuch as in efteem
Prince Memnon's fifter might befeem;
Or that farr'd Ethiop queen that strove
To fet her beauty's praife above
The sea nymphs, and their pow'rs offended;
Yet thou art higher far defcended :
Thee, bright-hair'd Vefta, long of yore
To folitary Saturn bore;
His daughter fhe (in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain).
Oft in glimmering bow'rs and glades
He met her, and in fecret fhades
Of woody Ida's inmoft grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, penfive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, ftedfaft, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And fable stole of Cyprus lawn,
Over thy decent fhoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted ftate,
With even step and mufing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thyfelf to marble, till
With a fad leaden downward caft
Thou fix them on the earth as faft:
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hears the mufes in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar fing:
And add to thefe retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure :
But firft, and chiefeft, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation;
And the mute Silence hift along,
'Left Philomel will deign a fong,
In her sweetest, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er th' accuftom'd oak
;
Sweet bird, that shunn'ft th' noife of Folly,
Moft mufical, moft melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among,
Woo, to hear thy even-fong;
And, miffing thee, I walk unfeen,
On the dry fmooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her higheft noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the heav'n's wide pathlefs way;
And oft as if her head fhe bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off curfeu found,
Over fome wide water'd fhore,
Swinging flow, with fullen roar:
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some ftill removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all refort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the belman's drowly charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unfphere
The fpirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forfook
Her manfion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whofe power hath a true confent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In fceptred pall come fweeping by,
Prefenting Thebes or Pelop's line,
Or the tale of Troy divine;
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the buskin'd ftage.
But, O sad Virgin, that thy power
Might raife Mufæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes, as warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did feek :
Or call up him that left half-told
The ftory of Cambuscan bold;
Of Camball, and of Algarfile,
And who had Canacé to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horfe of brafs,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught elfe great Eards befide
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft fee me in thy pale career, Till civil-fuited Morn appear,
Not trick'd and froune'd as she was wont,
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But 'kerchief'd in a comely cloud.
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ufher'd with a fhower ftill,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the fun begins to fing
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax, with heaved ftroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in clofe covert, by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring,
With fuch comfort as they keep,
Entice the dewy feather'd sleep;
And let fome ftrange myfterious dream
Wave at his wings in æry ftream
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid:
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