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Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups withi tears, To strew the laureat herse where Lycid lies. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise'; Ay me! Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bomes are hurl'd; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold : Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled orc Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high Through the dear might of him that walk'd the
waves; Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
In dark Cimmerian desart ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,