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The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitful beds and borders
In God's rich garden; that is bare

Which parts their ranks and orders.

HYMN OF PAN.— Shelley.

From the forests and highlands

We come, we come; From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb, Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and rushes,

The bees on the bells of thyme,
The birds on the myrtle-bushes,

The cicale above in the lime,
And the lizards below in the grass,
Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,
Listening to my sweet pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,

And the Nymphs of the woods and waves,
To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves,
And all that did then attend and follow,
Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,
With envy of my sweet pipings

356 L'allegro.

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dsedal earth,
And of heaven, and the giant wars, And love, and death, and birth;And then I changed my pipings,—
Singing how down the vale of Menalus I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed:
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!

It breaks in our bosom, and then we bleed:
All wept, as I think both ye now would,
If envy or age had not frozen your blood,
At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

L' ALLEGRO. Milton.

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born! In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights un = . holy, Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings;

There, under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess, fair and free,
In heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth!
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying;
There, on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,
Filled her vith thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Haste, then, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled love derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides!
Come, and trip it as you go,
On the light, fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To" hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before.
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,

358 L'allegro.

From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Some time walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate, Where the great sun begins his state, Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight;While the ploughman near at hand Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landscape round it measures:Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray;Mountains, on whose barren breast The laboring clouds do often rest;Meadows trim, with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savory dinner set, Of herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;

And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tanned haycock in the mead,

Sometimes with secure delight

The upland hamlets will invite,

When the merry bells ring round,

And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth and many a maid,

Dancing in the checkered shade;

And young and old come forth to play,

On a sunshine holiday,

Till the livelong daylight fail;

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,

With stories told of many a feat,

How fairy Mab the junkets eat;

She was pinched, and pulled, she said,

And he by friars' lanthorn led

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,

To earn his cream-bowl duly set,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn,

That ten day-laborers could not end;

Then lies him down the lubber fiend,

And, stretched out all the chimney's length,

BasKS at the fire his hairy strength,

And crop-full out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.

Towered cities please us then,

And the busy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold

In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,

With store of ladies, whose bright eyes

Rain influence, and judge the prize

Of wit or arms, while both contend

To win her grace whom all commend.

There let Hymen oft appear

In saffron robe, with taper clear,

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