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Thee bright-hair'd Vesta 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 shades
Of woody Ida's inmoft grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come penfive nun, devote and pure,
Sober, ftedfaft, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And fable stole 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 rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy paffion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till

With a fad leaden downward caft

Thou fix them on the earth as fast:

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 these retired Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;

But first, 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 Philomel will deign a fong,
In her sweetest, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night;
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er th' accustom'd oak;

Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noife of folly,

Moft mufical, most melancholy!

Thee, chantrefs, oft the woods among
I woo to hear thy even-fong;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry smooth shaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heav'n's wide pathlefs way,
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud;
Oft on a plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off curfew found,
Over fome wide water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar:
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still 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 the bellman's drowsy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft outwatch the bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold

What worlds, or what vast regions hold
Th' immortal mind that hath forfook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet, or with element,
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In fceptred pall come fweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the bufkin'd stage.
But, O fad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes, as warbled to the string,

Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,

And made Hell grant what Love did feek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball and of Algarfife,

And who had Canace to wife.

That own'd the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if ought elfe great bards befide
In fage and folemn 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 she was wont,
With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kercheft in a comely cloud,

While rocking winds are piping loud,

Or ufher'd with a fhower ftill,

When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,

With minute drops from off the eaves,
And when the fun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves,

Of pine or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring
With fuch concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep;

And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eyelids laid.

And as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath.

Sent by fome fpirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloifters pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars maffy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voic'd choir below,

R

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