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flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Ay me! Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurld; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whither thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks tow'rd Namancos and Bayona's hold; Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with truth: And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more; For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor: So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, (waves; Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
END OF LYCIDAS.