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And hug him into snares. When once her eye
165 Hath met the virtue of this magic dust,
I shall appear some harmless villager,
Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,

And hearken, if I may her business hear.

The LADY enters

170 Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,

My best guide now. Methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,

Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,
175 When, for their teeming flocks and granges full,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence
Of such late wassailers; yet, oh! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
(Under the spreading favour of these pines,)
185 Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.

180

They left me then, when the grey-hooded Even, Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed,

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 190
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts. 'Tis likeliest
They had engaged their wandering steps too far;
And envious darkness, ere they could return,
Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night, 195
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars
That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps
With everlasting oil to give due light
/To the misled and lonely traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;
Yet nought but single darkness do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,

Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses.

200

205

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience.

Oh, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed
Hope,

Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings,
And thou, unblemished form of Chastity!

I see ye visibly, and now believe

That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill·

215

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, 220 To keep my life and honour unassailed.... Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud (Turn forth her silver lining on the night? I did not err: there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night, 225 And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.) I can not hallo to my brothers, but

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I'll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits
Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.

Song

230 Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen atmosphere Within thy airy shell

By slow Meander's margent green,

And in the violet-embroidered vale

Where the love-lorn nightingale

235 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair

240

That likest thy Narcissus are?

O, if thou have

Hid them in some flowery cave,

Tell me but where tim

Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere!
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,

And give resounding grace to all Heaven's har

monies.

Comus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's

mould

Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
And with these raptures moves the vocal air
To testify hidden residence.

How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall smoothing the raven down

Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard
My mother Circe with the Sirens three,

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades,

Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul,
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,

And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause.
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself;
But such a sacred and home-felt delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,

I never heard till now. I'll speak to her,

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And she shall be my queen.-Hail, foreign wonder! 265 Whom, certain, these rough shades did never breed,

Unless the goddess that in rural shrine

Dwell'st here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song

Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog

To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd ill is lost that

praise

That is addressed to unattending ears.

Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my severed company,
275 Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossy couch.

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285

290

Comus. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft
you thus?

Lady. Dim darkness, and this leavy labyrinth.
Comus. Could that divide you from near-

ushering guides? going immediately before
Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf.
Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?
Lady. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly
spring.

Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded,
Lady?

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick
return.

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented

them.

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit!

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present
need? Is their loss import

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose.
Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful
bloom?

Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips.

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