Of heapt Elyfian flowres, and hear

Such freins as would have won the ear

Of Pluto, to have quite fet free.

His half regain'd Eurydice.

These delights, if thou canft give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

Il Penferofo.

Ence vain deluding joyes,

HE

The brood of folly without father bred, How little you befted,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys; Dwell in fome idle brain,

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes poffefs, As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that People the Sun Beams, Or likeft hovering dreams

The fickle Penfioners of Morpheus train. But hail thou Goddess, fage and holy,

Hail divineft Melancholy,

Whofe Saintly visage is too bright

To hit the Sense of human fight;
And therefore to our weaker view,
O'er-laid with black ftaid Wifdom's hue,

Black, but fuch as in esteem,

Prince Memnon's Sifter might befeem,

Or that starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove
To fet her beauties praise above

The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended,

Thee bright-hair'd Vefta long of yore,
To folitary Saturn bore;

His daughter fhe (in Saturn's reign,
Such mixture was not held a ftain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in fecret fhades
Of woody Ida's inmoft grove,

While yet there was no fear of fove.
Come penfive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, ftedfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And fable ftole of Cipres Lawn,
Over thy decent fhoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted ftate,
With ev'n ftep, and mufing gate,
And looks cómmercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy paffion ftill,
Forget thy felf to Marble, till

With a fad Leaden downward caft,

Thou fix them on the earth as faft.

And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,

And hears the Muses in a ring,

Ay round about Jove's Altar fing.

And add to these retired Leasure,

That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure s
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 Song,
In her sweeteft, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,

Gently o'er th' accustom❜d Oke;

Sweet Bird that fhunn'ft the noise of folly,
Moft musical, most melancholy!

Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy Eeven-Song;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry fmooth-haven Green,
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been lead aftray
Through the Heav'ns wide pathless way;

And oft, as if her head the bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off Curfen found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhoar,
Swinging flow with fullen roars