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Nard and Caffia’s balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can shew,

995 And drenches with Elyfian dew (Lift mortals, if your ears be true) Beds of hyacinth and roses, Where young Adonis oft reposes, Waxing well of his deep wound

1000 In slumber soft, and on the ground Sadly fits th’ Affyrian queen ; But far above in spangled Theen Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd, Holds his dear Pfyche fweet intranc’d, 1005 After her wand'ring labors long, Till free consent the Gods among Make her his eternal bride, And from her fair unspotted fide Two blissful twins are to be born,

2010 Youth and Joy ; fo Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is fmoothly done,
I can fly, or can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin Now doth bend, 1015
And from thence can foar as foon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love Virtue, she alone is free,
She can teach ye how to clime
Higher than the sphery chime ;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heay’n itself would stoop to her.




In this monody the author bewails a learned friend,

unfortunately drown din his paisage from Chelter on the Irish leas, 1637. and by occasion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth.



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E T once more, O ye Laurels, and once more

Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never sere, 1 come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude Shatter leaves before the mellowing year. S Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not fing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to fing, and build the lofty rhime. He must not flote upon his watry bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, IS That from beneath the feat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly fweep the string. Hence with denial vain, and coy excufe, So

may some gentle Muse With lucky words favor my


urn, And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. For we were nurft upon the self-fame hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, fhade, and rill.



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Together both, ere the high lawns appeard 25 Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her fultry horn, Battning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose, at evening, bright, 30 Toward Heaven's descent had nop'd his west'ring Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, (wheel. Temper'd to th’oaten flute, Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad found would not be abfent long, 35 And old Ďamætas lov'd to hear our song.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.

41 The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the role,

45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows ; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to fhepherds ear.

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas ? s' For neither were ye playing on the iteep, Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard fream : 55 Ay me! I fondly dream Had


been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Mufe herself for her inchanting lon,


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Whom universal nature did lament,

When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebius to the Lesbian shore ?

Alas! What boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely flighted shepherd's trade, 65
And strictly meditate the thankless Mule
Were it not better done as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neära's hair?
Fame is the spur that the clear spi'rit doth raise 70
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights, and live laborious days ;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears, 75
And fits the thin spun life. But not the praise,
Phoebus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears ;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil,
Nor in the glift'ring foil
Set off to thworld, nor in broad rumor lies, 80
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd food,85
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood :
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea ;

He alk'd the waves, and ask'd the fellon winds,
What hard mishap bath doom'd this gentle swain?
And queftion'd every gust of rugged winds
That blo:vs from off each beaked promontory ;
They knew not of his Rory,

95 And


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And sage Hippo:ades their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon tray'd,
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her fifters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk fo low that facred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet ledge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105
Like to that fanguin flow'r inscrib'd with woe.
Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge!
Last came, and last did go,
The pilot of the Galilean lake,
Two maffy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain)
He shook his miter'd locks, and stern bespake,
How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain,
Enow of such as for their bellies fake
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115
Of other care they little reck’ning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest; [hold
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to
A sheep-hook, or have learn d ought else the least
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs !
What recksitthem? What need they? They are sped}
And when they lift, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, 125
But fwoll'n with wind, and the rank mift they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion fpread :
Belides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said,
But that two-handed engin at the door 539
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.


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