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Public Verses of his time. He has a copy of What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
Latin iambics, in the Anthologia on the The Muse herself, for her enchanting son,
King's Recovery, Cantab. 1632. 4to. p. 43. Whom universal Nature did lament,

60 Of Latin elegiacs, in the Genethliacum Acad. When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, Cantabrig. Ibid. 1631. 4to. p. 39. Of Latin His goary visage down the stream was sent, iambics in Rex Redur, Ibid. 1633. 4to. p. 14.

Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? See also EYNSAIA, from Cambridge, Ibid.

Alas! what boots it with incessant care 1637. 4to. Signat. C. 3.]

To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade,

Aud strictly meditate the thankless Muse? YEt once more, O ye laurels, and once more

Were it not better done, as others use, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere,

To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude :

Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair ? And, with forc'd fingers rude,

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year:

(That last infirmity of noble mind)

71 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear,

To scorn delights and live laborious days; Compels me to disturb your season due :

But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,

And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer :

Comes the blind Pury with the abhorred shears, Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew

" But not the 10

And slits the thin-spun life. Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.

praise,” He must not float upon his watery bier

Phæbus replied, and touch'd my trenbling ears; Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Nor in the glistering foil Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well,

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ;

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string.

And perfect witness of all-judging Jore; 81 Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse :

As he pronounces lastly on each deed, So may some gentle Muse

Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.” With lucky words favour my destin'd urn; 30

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, And, as he passes, turn,

Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds! And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.

That strain I heard was of a higher mood: For we were nurs'd upou the self-same hill,

But now my oat proceeds, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill.

And listens to the herald of the sea Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd

That came in Neptune's plea;

90 Under the opening eye-lids of the Morn,

He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, We drove afield, and both together heard

What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn,

And question'd every gust of rugged wings Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, That blows from off each beaked promontory : Oft till the star, that rose, at evening bright, 30 They knew not of his story; Toward Heaven's descent had slop'd his wester

And sage Hippotades their answer brings, ing wheel.

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd; Mean while the rural ditties were not mute,

The air was calm, and on the level brine Temper'd to the oaten flute;

Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel

It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 From the glad sound would not be absent long ;

Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, And old Damoetas lov'd to hear our song.

That supk so low that sacred head of thine. But, О the heavy change, now thou art gone,

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, Now thou art gone, and never must return !

His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves

Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'er

Like to that sanguine flower inscribd with woe. grown,

“Ah! who hath reft" (quoth he)” my dearest And all their echoes mourn :


Last came, and last did go, (pledge? The willows, and the hazel copses green,

The pilot of the Galilean lake; Shall now no more be seen

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 110 Panning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays.

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) As killing as the canker to the rose,

He shook his initer'd locks, and stern bespake: Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,

“ How well could I have spa:'d for thee young Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear,

swain, When first the white-thorn blows,

Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear.

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorse

Of other care they little reckoning make, less deep

Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? 51

And shove away the worthy bidden guest; For neither were ye playing on the steep,

Elind mouths! that scarce themselves know how Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie,

to hold Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,

A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream:

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 121 Ay me! I fondly dream!


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And, when they list, their lean and fashy songs With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills, The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, And now was dropt into the western bay:

191 But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: draw,

To morrow to fresh woods, and pastures nex, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing sed : But that two-handed engine at the door 130 ORIGINAL VARIOUS READINGS OF LYCIDAS, Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past,

From Milton's MS, in bis own hand.
That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Ver. 10. Who would not sing for Lycidas, he
Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues.

well knew.
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Ver. 22. To bid faire peace, &c.
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, Ver. 26. Under the glimmering eye-lids, &c.
On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks; Ver. 30. Oft till the even-starre bright
Throw bither all your quaint enamelld eyes,

Towards Heaven's descent had sloapt That on the green turf suck the honied showers,

his burnisht wheel. And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Ver. 47. Or frost to flowres that their gay butBring the ratbe primrose that forsaken dies, 142

tons wear. "The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine,

Here bear had been written, and erased, before The white pink, and the pansy freak’d with jet, The glowing violet,

Ver. 58. What could the golden-hayrd Calliope The musk-rose, and the well-attir'd woodbine,

For her inchaunting son, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,

When she beheld (the gods far-sighted And every flower that sad embroidery wears:

bee) Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,

*His goarie scalpe roule downe the Thras And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, 150

cian lee. To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies. Here, after inchaunting son, occurs in the For, so to interpose a little ease,

margin Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise;

Whome universal Nature might lament, Av me! wliilst thee the shores and sounding seas

And Heaven and Hel deplore, Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurl'd,

When his divine head downe the streame Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,

was sent. Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, The line And Heaven, &c. is erased : divine Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world;

head is also altered to divine visage, and afOr whether thou, to our moist vows denied,

terwards to goary visage. Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 Ver. 69. Hid in the tangles, &c. Where the great vision of the guarded mount Ver. 83: Oh fountain Arethuse, and, thou smooth Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;

flood, Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth :

Sofl-sliding Mincius, And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Smooth is then altered to fam'd, and next to ho

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no nourd: And soft-sliding to smooth-sliding. For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, (more, Ver. 105. Scrauld ore with figures dim. Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; Inwrought is in the margin. So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

Ver. 129. Daily devours apace, and little sed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head,


Nothing is erased. And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Ver. 138. On whose fresh lap the swart star stint. Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

ly looks. So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high,

At first sparely, as at present. Through the dear might of him that walk'd the Ver. 139. Bring hither, &c. waves;

Ver. 142. Bring the rathe primrose that unwed, Where, other groves and other streams along,

ded dies, With nectar pure bis oozy locks he laves,

Colouring the pale cheek of uninjoy'd love; And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,

And that sad floure that strove In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.

To write his own woes on thç vermeil There entertain him all the saints above,

graine : In solemn troops, and sweet societies,

Next, adde Narcissus t'at still weeps in That sing, and, singing in their glory, move,

vaine;. And wipe the tears for ever from bis eyes.

The woodbine, and the pancie freak't Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; 180

with jet, Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,

The glowing violet, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good

The cowslip wan that hangs his pensive To all that wander in that perilous flood.

head, Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and

And every bud that sorror'sliverie weares; rills,

Let daffadillies fill their cupswith leares, While the stili Morn went out with sandals gray;

Bid ainaranthus all his beaụtie shed. He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, Here also the well-attir'd woodbine appears as at present, altered from garish columbine; and sud i Oft listening how the hounds and horn embroidery, an alteration of sad escocheon, in- Cheerly rouse the slumbering Mora, stead of sorrow's liverie.

From the side of some hoar hill, Ver. 153. Let our sad thought, &c.

Through the high wood echoing shrill: Ver. 154. Ay mee, whilst thee the floods and Some time walking, not unseen, sounding seas.

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Ver. 160. Sleep'st by the fable of Corineus old. Right against the eastern-gate
But Bellerus is a correction.

Where the great Sun begins his statę, Ver. 176. Listening the unexpressive nuptial Rob'd in flames, and amber light, song.

The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles d'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,

And the mower whets his sithe,

And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale. Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, Whilst the landscape round it measures; In Stygian cave forlorn,

Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights where the nibbling flocks do stray; unho!y!

Mountains, on whose barren breast, Find out some uncouth cell,

The labouring clouds do often rest; Where brooding Darkness sads his jealous Meadows trim with daisies pide, wings,

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide : And the night-raven sings;

Towers and battlements it sees There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd Bosom'd high in tufted trees, As ragged as thy locks,

[rocks, Where perhaps some beauty lies, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

The Cynosure of neigbbouring eyes. But come, thou goddess fair and free,

Hard by, a cottage chimney smoaks, In Heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne,

From betwixt'two aged oaks, And by men, heart-easing Mirth;

Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,

Are at their savoury dir ner set With two sister Graces more,

Cf herbs, and other country messes, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; Or whether (as some sager sing)

And then in haste her bower she leaves, The frolic wind, that breathes the spring, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; Zephyr, with Aurora playing,

Or, if the earlier season lead, As he met her once a-maying ;

To the tann'd haycock in the mead. There on beds of violets blue,

Sometimes with secure delight And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,

The upland hamlets will invite, Fillid her with thee a daughter fair,

When the merry bells ring round, So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

And the jocund rebecks sound Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

To many a youth, and many a maid, Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Dancing in the chequer'd shade; Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,

And young and old come forth to play Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,

On a sun shine holy-day, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

Till the live-long day-light fail : And love to live in dimple sleek ;

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

With stories told of many a feat, And Laughter holding both his sides.

How faery Mab the junkets eat ; Come, and tripit, as you go,

She was pinch’d, and pull’d, she sed; On the light fantastic toe;

And he, by friars lantern led, And in thy right hand lead with thee

Tells how the drudging goblin swet, The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;

To earn his cream-bowl duly set, And, if I give thee honour due,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

His shadowy fail hath thresh'd the corn, To live with her, and live with thee,

That ten day-labourers could not end ; In unreproved pleasures free;

Then lies him down the lubbar fiend, To hear the lark begin his fight,

And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, And singing startle the dull Night,

Basks at the fire his hairy strength; From his watch-tower in the skies,

And crop-full out of doors he Aings, Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;

Ere the first cock bis matin rings. Then to come, in spite of sorrow,

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, And at my window bid good morrow,

By whispering winds soon lull’d asleep. Through the sweet briar, or the vine,

Tower'd cities please us then, Or the twisted eglantine :

And the busy hum of men, While the cock, with lively din,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold, Scatters the rear of Darkness thin.

In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, And to the stack, or the barn-door,

With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Stoutly struts his dames before:

Rain influence, and judge the prize

Of wit, or arms, while both contend

And sable stole of Cyprus lawn, To win her grace, whom all commend,

Over thy decent shoulders drawn. There let Hymen oft appear

Come, but keep thy wonted state, In saffron robe, with taper clear,

With even step, and musing gait; And pomp, and feast, and revelry,

And looks commércing with the skies, With mask, and antique pageantry ;

Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: Such sights as youthful poets dream

There, held in holy passion still, On summer eves by haunted stream.

Forget thyself to marble, till Then to the well-trod stage anon,

With a sad leaden downward cast If Jonson's learned suck be on,

Thou fix them on the earth as fast: Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,

And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Warble his native wood-notes wild.

Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, Aud ever, against eating cares,

And hears the Muses in a ring Lap me in soft Lydian airs,

Aye round about Jove's altar sing: Married to immortal verse;

And add to these retired Leisure, Such as the meeting soul may pierce,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure: Iu notes, with many a winding bout

But first, and chiefest, with thee bring, Of linked sweetness long drawn out,

Him that yon soars on golden wing, With wanton heed and giddy cunning;

Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The melting voice through mazes running,

The cherub Contemplation; Untwisting all the chains that tie

And the mute Silence hist along, The bidden soul of harmony;

'Less Philomel will deign a song, That Orpheus' self may heave his head

In her sweetest saddest plight, From golden slumber on a bed

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Such strains as would have won the ear

Gently o’er the accustom'd oak: Of Pluto, to have quite set free

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, His half-regain'd Eurydice.

Most musical, most melancholy ! These deřghts if thou canst give,

Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

I woo, to hear thy even-song ;
And, missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,

To behold the wandering Moon,

Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray

Through the Heaven's wide pathless way; Hence, rain deluding Joys,

Aud oft, as if her head she bow'd, The brood of Folly without father bred !

Stooping through a fleecy cloud, How little you bested,

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! I hear the far-off Curteu sound, Dwell in some idle brain,

Over some wide-waterd sbore, And farcies fund with gaudy shapes possess, Swinging slow with sullen roar: As thick and numberless

Or, if the air will not permit, As the gay motes that people the sun-beams;

Some still removed place will fit, Or likest bovering dreams,

Where glowing embers through the room The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy,

Far from all resort of wirth, Hail, divinest Melancholy !

Save the cricket on the hearth, Whose sainily visage is too bright

Or the belman's drowsy charın, To hit the sense of human sight,

To bless the doors from nightly harm, And therefore to our weaker view

Or let my lamp at midnight hour, O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;

Be seen in some high lonely toner, Black, but such as in esteem

Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,

With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove The spirit of Plato, to unfold To set her beauty's praise above

What worlds or what vast regions hold The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended : The immortal mind, that hath forsook Yet thou art higher far descended:

Her mansion in this fleshly nook : Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore,

And of those demous that are found To solitary Saturn bore;

In fire, air, flood, or under ground, His daughter she; in Saturn's reign,

Whose power hath a true consent Such mixture was not held a stain:

With planet, or with element. Oft in glimmering bowers and glades,

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy He met her, and in secret shades

In scepter'd pall come sweeping by, Of woody Ida's inmost grove,

Present ng Thebes, or Pelops' line, Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.

Or the tale of Troy divine; Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,

Or what (though rare) of later age Sober, stedfast, and demure,

Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. All in a robe of darkest grain,

But, O sad virgin, that thy power Flowing with majestic train,

Might raise Musæus from his bower!


Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
Such notes, as, warbled to the string,

And I with thee will choose to live.
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek!
Or call up him that left half-told

The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,

And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass;
And of the wonderous horse of brass.

Entertainment presented to

the countess On which the Tartar king did ride:

Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by some And if aught else great bards beside

noble persons of her family ; who appear on In sage and solemn tunes have sung,

the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward Of turneys, and of trophies hung,

the seat of state, with this song. Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear.

(UNQUESTIONABLY this mask was a much longer Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, performance. Milton seems only to have writTill civil-suited Morn appear,

ten the poetical part, consisting of these Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont

three songs and the recitative soliloquy of the With the Attic boy to hunt,

Genius. The rest was probably prose and maBut kercheft in a comely cloud,

chinery. In many of Jonsou's masques, the While rocking winds are piping loud,

poet but rarely appears, amidst a cumbersome Or usher'd with a shower still,

exhibition of heathen gods and mythology. When the gust hath blown his fill,

Alice, countess dowager of Derby, married Ending on the russling leaves,

Ferdinando lord Strange; who on the death of With minute drops from off the eaves.

his father Henry, in 1594, became earl of Derby, And, when the Sun begins to fling

but died the next year. She was the sixth daughHis flaring beams, me, goddess, bring

ter of sir John Spenser of Althorpe in NorthampTo arched walks of twilight groves,

tonshire. She was afterwards married (in 1600) And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,

to lord chancellor Egerton, who died in 1617. Of pine, or monumental oak,

She died Jan. 26, 1635-6, and was buried at Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke,

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.

There in close covert by some brook,

Look, nymphs, and shepherds, look,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,

What sudden blaze of majesty,

Is that which we from hence descry,
While the bee with honied thigh,

Too divine to be mistook :
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,

This, this is she
With such consort as they keep,

To whom our vows and wishes bend;

Here our solemn search hath end.
Entice the dewy feather'd Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream

Fame, that, her high worth to raise,
Wave at his wings in aery stream

Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse, Of lively portraiture display'd,

We may justly now accuse

10 Softly on my eye-lids laid.

Of detraction from her praise; And, as I wake, sweet music breathe

Less than half we find exprest,
Above, about, or underneath,

Envy bid conceal the rest.
Sent by some spirit to mortal good,
Or the unseen genius of the wood.

Mark, what radiant state she spreads,
But let my due feet never fail

In circle round her shining throne, To walk the studious cloysters pale,

Shooting her beams like silver threads ; And love the high-embowed roof,

This, this is she alone, With antic pillars massy proof,

Sitting like a goddess bright,
And storied windows richly dight,

In the centre of her light.
Casting a dim religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,

Dlight she the wise Latopa be,
To the full-voic'd quire below,

Or the tower'd Cybele In service high and anthems clear,

Mother of a hundred gods? As may with sweewess, through mine ear,

Juno dares not give her odds : Dissolve me into ecstasies,

Who had thought this clime had held
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

A deity so unparallelld?
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,

As they come forward the Genius of the wood apThe hairy gown and mossy cell,

pears, and turning towards them speaks. Where I may sit and rightly spell

Of every star that Heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;

Stay, gentle swains; for, though in this Till old experience do attain

disguise, To something like prophetic strain.

I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes ;

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