And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mafque, and antique pageantry; Such fights as youthful poets dream On fummer eves by haunted ftream. Then to the well-trod flage anon, If Johnson's learned fock be on, Or fweetest Shakespear, fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares, Lap me in foft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verfe,
Such as the melting foul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out; With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice, through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden foul of harmony;
That Orpheus' felf may heave his head From golden lumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elyfian flowers, 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.
ENCE 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 fome idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy fhapes pofiefs, As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the fun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams,
The fickle penfioners of Morpheus' train.
But hail, thou goddess, fage and holy !. Hail, divineft Melancholy!
Whofe faintly vifage is too bright To hit the fenfe of human fight, And therefore weaker to our view O'erlaid with black, ftaid wifdom's hue Black, but fuch as in efteem
Prince Memnon's fifter might befeem : Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that trove
To fet her beauties' praife above
The fea-nymphs, and their powers 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 inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, penfive nun, devout and pure, Sober, itedfalt, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And fable ftole 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 wrapt foul fitting in thine eyes; There held in holy paffion 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 Leifure, 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, 'Lefs Phil.mel will deign a fong, In her sweeteft, faddeft plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night
While Cynthia checks her dragon voke, Gently o'er the accuftom'd oak
Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noife of felly, Moft musical, moft melancholy!) Thee, chantrefs, oft the woods among I woo to hear thy even fong? And miffing thee, I walk unfeen On the dry fmooth haven green, To behold the wand'ring moon Riding near her highest 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 a far-off curfew 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 let ballman's drowly charm, To blefs the door from nightly harm Or ler thy lamp at midnight hour Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unfphere The fpirit of Plato to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold- Th' immortal mind that hath forfook Her mansion in the fleshy nook;
And of thofe demons that, are found
In fire, air, flood, or
Whofe power hath a true confent With planet, or with element. Some time let gorgeous tragedy In fcepter'd pall come fweeping by, Prefenting Thebe's or Pelop's line, Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (thought rare) of later age Ennobled hath the bufkin ftage. But, O fad Virgin, that thy power Might raife Mufæus from his bower, Or bid they foul of Orpheus fing, Such notes, as warbled to the string, Drew iron tears round Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what love did feek. Or call up him that left half told The ftory of Cambufcan bold, Of Camball and of Algarfife, And who had Canace to his wife, That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wond'rous horfe of brafs, On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught elfe great bards befide In fage and foleinn 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 frounc'd as he was wont With the Attic, boy to hunt,
But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud;
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