Part 3 (2/2)
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 at his wings, 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 unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail 155 To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars ma.s.sy-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 spell 170 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.
ARCADES.
_Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield by some n.o.ble Persons of her Family; who appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of state, with this song:--_
I. _Song._
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 Seemed erst so lavish and profuse, We may justly now accuse 10 Of detraction from her praise: Less than half we find expressed; Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads, In circle round her s.h.i.+ning throne 15 Shooting her beams like silver threads: This, this is she alone, Sitting like a G.o.ddess bright In the centre of her light.
Might she the wise Latona be, 20 Or the towered Cybele, Mother of a hundred G.o.ds?
Juno dares not give her odds: Who had thought this clime had held A deity so unparalleled? 25
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and, turning toward them, speaks.
_Gen._ 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 sluice, 30 Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, Fair silver-buskined 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 night's glad solemnity, And lead ye where ye may more near behold 40 What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold; Which I full oft, amidst those shades alone, Have sat 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 cankered venom bites.
When evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground; 55 And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or ta.s.selled horn Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout With puissant words and murmurs made to bless. 60 But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I To the celestial Sirens' harmony, That sit upon the nine infolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, 65 And turn the adamantine spindle round On which the fate of G.o.ds and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, To lull the daughters of Necessity, And keep unsteady Nature to her law, 70 And the low world in measured motion draw After the heavenly tune, which none can hear Of human mould with gross unpurged ear.
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze The peerless height of her immortal praise 75 Whose l.u.s.tre leads us, and for her most fit, If my inferior hand or voice could hit Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go, Whate'er the skill of lesser G.o.ds can show I will a.s.say, her worth to celebrate, 80 And so attend ye toward her glittering state; Where ye may all, that are of n.o.ble stem, Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture's hem.
II. _Song._
O'er the smooth enamelled green, Where no print of step hath been, 85 Follow me, as I sing And touch the warbled string: Under the shady roof Of branching elm star-proof Follow me. 90 I will bring you where she sits, Clad in splendor as befits Her deity.
Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen. 95
III. _Song._
Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more By sandy Ladon's lilied banks; On old Lycaeus, or Cyllene h.o.a.r, Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore, 100 A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Maenalus Bring your flocks, and live with us; Here ye shall have greater grace, To serve the Lady of this place. 105 Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were, Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen All Arcadia hath not seen.
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