The stars, with deep amaze,Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,70Bending one waytheir precious influence,And will not take their flight,For all the morning light,OrLuciferthat often warned them thence;But in their glimmering orbs did glow,75Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
The stars, with deep amaze,
Stand fixed in steadfast gaze,70
Bending one waytheir precious influence,
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,
OrLuciferthat often warned them thence;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow,75
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
And, though the shady gloomHad given day her room,The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,And hid his head for shame,80Ashis inferior flameThe new-enlightened world no more should need:He saw a greater Sun appearThan his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.
And, though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,80
Ashis inferior flame
The new-enlightened world no more should need:
He saw a greater Sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn,85Or ere the point of dawn,Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;Full little thought they thanThatthe mighty PanWas kindly come to live with them below:90Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
The shepherds on the lawn,85
Or ere the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;
Full little thought they than
Thatthe mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them below:90
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweetTheir hearts and ears did greetAs never wasby mortal finger strook,95Divinely-warbled voiceAnswering the stringed noise,As all their souls in blissful rapture took:The air, such pleasure loth to lose,99With thousand echoesstill prolongs each heavenly close.
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet
As never wasby mortal finger strook,95
Divinely-warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took:
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,99
With thousand echoesstill prolongs each heavenly close.
Nature, that heard such soundBeneath the hollow roundOfCynthia’s seatthe Airy region thrilling,Now was almost wonTo think her part was done,105And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:She knew such harmony aloneCould hold all Heaven and Earth in happierunion.
Nature, that heard such sound
Beneath the hollow round
OfCynthia’s seatthe Airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,105
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling:
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happierunion.
At last surrounds their sightA globe of circular light,110That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed;The helmed cherubimAndsworded seraphimAre seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,Harping in loud and solemn quire,115With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new-born Heir.
At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,110
That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed;
The helmed cherubim
Andsworded seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
Harping in loud and solemn quire,115
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new-born Heir.
Such music (as ’tis said)Before was never made,But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,While the Creator great120His constellations set,And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,And cast the dark foundations deep,And bidthe weltering wavestheir oozy channel keep.
Such music (as ’tis said)
Before was never made,
But when of old the Sons of Morning sung,
While the Creator great120
His constellations set,
And the well-balanced World on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bidthe weltering wavestheir oozy channel keep.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres!125Once bless our human ears,If ye have power to touch our senses so;And let your silver chimeMove in melodious time;And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow;130And with your ninefold harmonyMake up full consort to the angelic symphony.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres!125
Once bless our human ears,
If ye have power to touch our senses so;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time;
And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow;130
And with your ninefold harmony
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
For, if such holy songEnwrap our fancy long,Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;135Andspeckled VanityWill sicken soon and die,And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;And Hell itself will pass away,And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.140
For, if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold;135
Andspeckled Vanity
Will sicken soon and die,
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould;
And Hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.140
Yea, Truth and Justice thenWill down return to men,Orbed in a rainbow; and,like glories wearing,Mercy will sit between,Throned in celestial sheen,145With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;And Heaven, as at some festival,Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.
Yea, Truth and Justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow; and,like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
Throned in celestial sheen,145
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering;
And Heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.
But wisest Fate says No,This must not yet be so;150The Babe yet lies in smiling infancyThat on the bitter crossMust redeem our loss,So both himself and us to glorify:Yet first, tothose ychained in sleep,155The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep.
But wisest Fate says No,
This must not yet be so;150
The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss,
So both himself and us to glorify:
Yet first, tothose ychained in sleep,155
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep.
With such a horrid clangAs on Mount Sinai rang,While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:The aged Earth, aghast160With terror of that blast,Shall from the surface to the centre shake,When, at the world’s last session,The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang,
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake:
The aged Earth, aghast160
With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake,
When, at the world’s last session,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
And then at last our bliss165Full and perfect is,But now begins; for from this happy dayThe Old Dragonunder ground,In straiter limits bound,Not half so far casts his usurped sway,170And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
And then at last our bliss165
Full and perfect is,
But now begins; for from this happy day
The Old Dragonunder ground,
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway,170
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The Oracles are dumb;No voice or hideous humRuns through the arched roof in words deceiving.175Apollofrom his shrineCan no more divine,With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.No nightly trance, or breathedspell,Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.180
The Oracles are dumb;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving.175
Apollofrom his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
No nightly trance, or breathedspell,
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.180
The lonely mountains o’er,And the resounding shore,A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;From haunted spring, and daleEdged with poplar pale,185The partingGeniusis with sighing sent;With flower-inwoven tresses tornThe Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
The lonely mountains o’er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament;
From haunted spring, and dale
Edged with poplar pale,185
The partingGeniusis with sighing sent;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
In consecrated earth,And on the holy hearth,190The Lars and Lemuresmoan with midnight plaint;In urns, and altars round,A drear and dying soundAffrights the flamensat their service quaint;Andthe chill marble seems to sweat,195While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,190
The Lars and Lemuresmoan with midnight plaint;
In urns, and altars round,
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the flamensat their service quaint;
Andthe chill marble seems to sweat,195
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat.
Peor and BaälimForsake their temples dim,Withthat twice-battered god of Palestine;Andmooned Ashtaroth,200Heaven’s queen and mother both,Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:The Lybic Hammonshrinks his horn;In vain the Tyrian maidstheir wounded Thammuzmourn.
Peor and Baälim
Forsake their temples dim,
Withthat twice-battered god of Palestine;
Andmooned Ashtaroth,200
Heaven’s queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine:
The Lybic Hammonshrinks his horn;
In vain the Tyrian maidstheir wounded Thammuzmourn.
Andsullen Moloch, fled,205Hath left in shadows dreadHis burning idol all of blackest hue;In vain with cymbals’ ringThey call the grisly king,In dismal dance aboutthe furnace blue;210The brutish gods of Nile as fast,Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Andsullen Moloch, fled,205
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol all of blackest hue;
In vain with cymbals’ ring
They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance aboutthe furnace blue;210
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Nor is Osiris seenIn Memphian grove or green,214Tramplingthe unshowered grasswith lowings loud;215Nor can he be at restWithin his sacred chest;Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark,The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.220
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,214
Tramplingthe unshowered grasswith lowings loud;215
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest;
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud;
In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark,
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.220
He feels from Juda’s landThe dreaded Infant’s hand;The rays of Bethlehem blindhis dusky eyn;Nor all the gods besideLonger dare abide,225Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.
He feels from Juda’s land
The dreaded Infant’s hand;
The rays of Bethlehem blindhis dusky eyn;
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide,225
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine:
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.
So, when the sun in bed,Curtained with cloudy red,230Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,The flocking shadows paleTroop to the infernal jail,Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,And the yellow-skirted fays235Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
So, when the sun in bed,
Curtained with cloudy red,230
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernal jail,
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,
And the yellow-skirted fays235
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see! the Virgin blestHath laid her Babe to rest.Time is our tedious song should here have ending:Heaven’s youngest-teemed star240Hath fixed her polished car,Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;And all about the courtly stableBright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.
But see! the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest.
Time is our tedious song should here have ending:
Heaven’s youngest-teemed star240
Hath fixed her polished car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bonesThe labor of an age in piled stones?Or that his hallowed reliques should be hidUnder astar-ypointingpyramid?Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,5What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?Thou in our wonder and astonishmentHast built thyselfa livelong monument.For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavoring artThy easy numbers flow,and that each heart10Hath from the leaves ofthy unvalued bookThose Delphic lineswith deep impression took,Then thou,our fancy of itself bereaving,Dost makeusmarble with too much conceiving,And sosepulchredin such pomp dost lie15That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones
The labor of an age in piled stones?
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid
Under astar-ypointingpyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,5
What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyselfa livelong monument.
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavoring art
Thy easy numbers flow,and that each heart10
Hath from the leaves ofthy unvalued book
Those Delphic lineswith deep impression took,
Then thou,our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost makeusmarble with too much conceiving,
And sosepulchredin such pomp dost lie15
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
Hence, loathed Melancholy,Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bornInStygian caveforlorn’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!Find outsome uncouth cell,5Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,And the night-raven sings;There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,As ragged as thy locks,In dark Cimmerian desertever dwell.10But come, thou Goddess fair and free,In heavenycleptEuphrosyne,And by men heart-easing Mirth;Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,Withtwo sister Graces more,15To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:Or whether (as some sager sing)The frolic windthat breathes the spring,Zephyr, with Aurora playing,As he met her once a-Maying,20There, on beds of violets blue,And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,So buxom, blithe, and debonair.Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee25Jest, and youthful Jollity,Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,Nods and Becks and wreathedSmiles,Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,And love to live in dimple sleek;30Sport that wrinkled Care derides,And Laughter holding both his sides.Come, andtrip it, as you go,On the light fantastic toe;And in thy right hand lead with thee35The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;And, if I give thee honor due,Mirth, admit me of thy crew,To live with her, and live with thee,In unreproved pleasures free;40To hear the larkbegin his flight,And, singing, startle the dull night,From his watch-tower in the skies,Till the dappled dawn doth rise;Then to come, in spite of sorrow,45And at my window bid good-morrow,Through the sweet-briar or the vine,Or the twisted eglantine;While the cock, with lively din,Scatters the rear of darkness thin;50And to the stack, or the barn-door,Stoutly struts his dames before:Oft listening how the hounds and hornCheerly rouse the slumbering morn,From the side of some hoar hill,55Through the high wood echoing shrill:Sometime walking, not unseen,By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,Rightagainstthe eastern gateWhere the great Sun begins his state,60Robed in flames and amber light,The clouds in thousand liveries dight;While the ploughman, near at hand,Whistles o’er the furrowed land,And the milkmaid singeth blithe,65And the mower whets his scythe,And every shepherd tells his taleUnder the hawthorn in the dale.Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,Whilstthe landskipround it measures:70Russet lawns, and fallows gray,Where the nibbling flocks do stray;Mountains on whose barren breastThe laboring clouds do often rest;Meadows trim, with daisies pied;75Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;Towers and battlementsitseesBosomed high in tufted trees,Where perhaps some beauty lies,The cynosure of neighboring eyes.80Hard by a cottage chimney smokesFrom betwixt two aged oaks,Where Corydon and Thyrsis metAre at their savory dinner setOf herbs and other country messes,85Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;And then in haste herbowershe leaves,With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;Or, if the earlier season lead,To thetanned haycockin the mead.90Sometimes, with secure delight,The upland hamlets will invite,When the merry bells ring round,And the jocund rebecks soundTo many a youth and many a maid95Dancingin the chequered shade,And young and old come forth to playOn a sunshine holiday,Till the livelong daylight fail:Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,100With stories told of many a feat,HowFaery Mabthe junkets eat.Shewas pinched and pulled, she said;And he, by Friar’s lantern led,Tellshow the drudging goblin sweat105To earn his cream-bowl duly set,When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,His shadowy flail hath threshed the cornThat ten day-laborerscould not end;Then lies him down,the lubber fiend,110And, stretched out all the chimney’s length,Basks at the fire his hairy strength,And crop-full out of doors he flings,Ere the first cock his matin rings.Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,115By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.Towered cities please us then,And the busy hum of men,Where throngs of knights and barons bold,In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,120With store of ladies, whose bright eyesRain influence, and judge the prizeOf wit or arms, while both contendTo win her gracewhomall commend.There let Hymen oft appear125In saffron robe, with taper clear,And pomp, and feast, and revelry,Withmaskand antique pageantry;Such sights as youthful poets dream,On summer eves by haunted stream.130Then to the well-trod stage anon,IfJonson’s learned sockbe on,Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child,Warble his native wood-notes wild,And ever, against eating cares,135Lap me in soft Lydian airs,Married to immortal verse,Such asthe meeting soulmay pierce,In notes with many a windingboutOf linked sweetness long drawn out140With wanton heed and giddy cunning,The melting voice through mazes running,Untwisting all the chains that tieThe hidden soul of harmony;That Orpheus’ self may heave his head145From golden slumber on a bedOf heaped Elysian flowers, and hearSuch strains as would have won the earOfPlutoto have quite set freeHis half-regained Eurydice.150These delights if thou canst give,Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
InStygian caveforlorn
’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!
Find outsome uncouth cell,5
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian desertever dwell.10
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In heavenycleptEuphrosyne,
And by men heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
Withtwo sister Graces more,15
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic windthat breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,20
There, on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee25
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathedSmiles,
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;30
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, andtrip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee35
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;40
To hear the larkbegin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,45
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin;50
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,55
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Sometime walking, not unseen,
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
Rightagainstthe eastern gate
Where the great Sun begins his state,60
Robed in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o’er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,65
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilstthe landskipround it measures:70
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim, with daisies pied;75
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlementsitsees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighboring eyes.80
Hard by a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met
Are at their savory dinner set
Of herbs and other country messes,85
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste herbowershe leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To thetanned haycockin the mead.90
Sometimes, with secure delight,
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid95
Dancingin the chequered shade,
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the livelong daylight fail:
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,100
With stories told of many a feat,
HowFaery Mabthe junkets eat.
Shewas pinched and pulled, she said;
And he, by Friar’s lantern led,
Tellshow the drudging goblin sweat105
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-laborerscould not end;
Then lies him down,the lubber fiend,110
And, stretched out all the chimney’s length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,115
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold,120
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her gracewhomall commend.
There let Hymen oft appear125
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
Withmaskand antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream,
On summer eves by haunted stream.130
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
IfJonson’s learned sockbe on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy’s child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild,
And ever, against eating cares,135
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such asthe meeting soulmay pierce,
In notes with many a windingbout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out140
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus’ self may heave his head145
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
OfPlutoto have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice.150
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
Hence, vain deluding Joys,The brood of Folly without father bred!How little you bested,Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!Dwell in some idle brain,5And fanciesfondwith gaudy shapes possess,As thick and numberlessAs the gay motes that people the sun-beams,Or likest hovering dreams,The fickle pensioners ofMorpheus’train.10But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!Hail, divinestMelancholy!Whose saintly visage is too brightTo hit the sense of human sight,And therefore to our weaker view,15O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue;Black, but such as in esteemPrince Memnon’ssister might beseem,Orthat starred Ethiop queenthat stroveTo set her beauty’s praise above20The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.Yet thou art higher far descended:Theebright-haired Vestalong of yoreTo solitary Saturn bore;His daughter she; in Saturn’s reign25Such mixture was not held a stain.Oft in glimmering bowers and gladesHe met her, and in secret shadesOf woody Ida’s inmost grove,Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.30Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,Sober, steadfast, and demure,All in a robe of darkest grain,Flowing with majestic train,And sable stole of cypress lawn35Over thy decent shoulders drawn.Come; but keep thy wonted state,With even step, and musing gait,And looks commercing with the skiesThy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:40There, held in holy passion still,Forget thyself to marble, tillWith a sad leaden downward castThou fix them on the earth as fast.And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,45Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,And hears the Muses in a ringAyeround about Jove’s altar sing;And add to these retired Leisure,That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;50But, first and chiefest, with thee bringHim that yon soars on golden wing,Guidingthe fiery-wheeled throne,The Cherub Contemplation;And the mute Silencehistalong,55‘Less Philomel will deign a song,In her sweetest, saddestplight,Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,WhileCynthia checks her dragon yokeGently o’er the accustomed oak.60Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly,Most musical, most melancholy!Thee, chauntress, oft the woods amongI woo, to hear thy even-song;And, missing thee, Iwalk unseen65On the dry smooth-shaven green,To behold the wandering moon,Riding near her highest noon,Like one that had been led astrayThrough the heaven’s wide pathless way,70And oft, as if her head she bowed,Stooping through a fleecy cloud.Oft, on a plat of rising ground,I hear the far-off curfew sound,Over some wide-watered shore,75Swinging slow with sullen roar;Or, if the air will not permit,Some stillremovedplace will fit,Where glowing embers through the roomTeach light to counterfeit a gloom,80Far from all resort of mirth,Save the cricket on the hearth,Or the bellman’s drowsy charmTo bless the doors from nightly harm.Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,85Be seen in some high lonely tower,Where I may oftoutwatch the Bear,With thrice great Hermes, or unsphereThe spirit of Plato, to unfoldWhat worlds or what vast regions hold90The immortal mind that hath forsookHer mansion in this fleshly nook;And of thosedemonsthat are foundIn fire, air, flood, or underground,Whose power hath a true consent95With planet or with element.Sometime let gorgeous TragedyIn sceptred pall come sweeping by,Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line,Or the tale of Troy divine,100Or what (though rare) of later ageEnnobled haththe buskined stage.But, O sad Virgin! that thy powerMight raiseMusæusfrom his bower;Or bidthe soul ofOrpheussing105Such notes as,warbled to the string,Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,And made Hell grant what love did seek;Or call up him that left half-toldThe story of Cambuscan bold,110Of Camball, and of Algarsife,And who had Canace to wife,That owned the virtuous ring and glass,And of the wondrous horse of brassOn which the Tartar king did ride;115And if aught else great bards besideIn sage and solemn tunes have sung,Of turneys, and of trophies hung,Of forests, and enchantments drear,Wheremore is meant than meets the ear.120Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,Tillcivil-suited Mornappear,Not tricked and frounced,as she was wontWith the Attic boy to hunt,Butkerchieftin a comely cloud,125Whilerocking windsare piping loudOr ushered with a shower still,When the gust hath blown his fill,Ending on the rustling leaves,With minute-drops from off the eaves.130And,when the sun beginsto flingHis flaring beams, me, Goddess, bringTo arched walks of twilight groves,And shadows brown, thatSylvanloves,Of pine, ormonumental oak,135Where the rude axe with heaved strokeWas never heard the nymphs to daunt,Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.There, in close covert, by some brook,Where no profaner eye may look,140Hide me from day’s garish eye,While the bee with honeyed thigh,That at her flowery work doth sing,And the waters murmuring,With such consort as they keep,145Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.And let some strange mysterious dreamWave athiswings, in airy streamOf lively portraiture displayed,Softly on my eyelids laid;150And, as I wake, sweet music breatheAbove, about, or underneath,Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,Or the unseenGenius of the wood.But let my due feetnever fail155To walk the studious cloister’s pale,And love the highembowedroof,With antique pillarsmassy-proof,And storied windows richly dight,Casting a dim religious light.160There let the pealing organ blow,To the full-voiced quire below,In service high and anthems clear,As may with sweetness, through mine ear,Dissolve me into ecstasies,165And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.And may at last my weary ageFind out the peaceful hermitage,The hairy gown and mossy cell,Where I may sit and rightly spell170Of every star that heaven doth shew,And every herb that sips the dew,Till old experience do attainTo something like prophetic strain.These pleasures, Melancholy, give;175And I with thee will choose to live.
Hence, vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,5
And fanciesfondwith gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
The fickle pensioners ofMorpheus’train.10
But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!
Hail, divinestMelancholy!
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view,15
O’erlaid with black, staid Wisdom’s hue;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon’ssister might beseem,
Orthat starred Ethiop queenthat strove
To set her beauty’s praise above20
The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended:
Theebright-haired Vestalong of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she; in Saturn’s reign25
Such mixture was not held a stain.
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.30
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn35
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come; but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:40
There, held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,45
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Ayeround about Jove’s altar sing;
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;50
But, first and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guidingthe fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation;
And the mute Silencehistalong,55
‘Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddestplight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
WhileCynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o’er the accustomed oak.60
Sweet bird, that shunn’st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among
I woo, to hear thy even-song;
And, missing thee, Iwalk unseen65
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven’s wide pathless way,70
And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,75
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some stillremovedplace will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,80
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman’s drowsy charm
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,85
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oftoutwatch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold90
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of thosedemonsthat are found
In fire, air, flood, or underground,
Whose power hath a true consent95
With planet or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops’ line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,100
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled haththe buskined stage.
But, O sad Virgin! that thy power
Might raiseMusæusfrom his bower;
Or bidthe soul ofOrpheussing105
Such notes as,warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek;
Or call up him that left half-told
The story of Cambuscan bold,110
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride;115
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Wheremore is meant than meets the ear.120
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Tillcivil-suited Mornappear,
Not tricked and frounced,as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
Butkerchieftin a comely cloud,125
Whilerocking windsare piping loud
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute-drops from off the eaves.130
And,when the sun beginsto fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, thatSylvanloves,
Of pine, ormonumental oak,135
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed 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 honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,
With such consort as they keep,145
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave athiswings, in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid;150
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseenGenius of the wood.
But let my due feetnever fail155
To walk the studious cloister’s pale,
And love the highembowedroof,
With antique pillarsmassy-proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.160
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,165
And bring all Heaven 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 spell170
Of every star that heaven 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.