Imágenes de páginas

That finging up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings, and in your notes His praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be filent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain or fresh fade, Made vocal by my long, and taught His praise.

Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still To give us only good; and if the night Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal’d, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

Hence, loathed Melancholy!
Or Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and Irieks, and fights unholy.

Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven fings;
There under ebon Thades, and low-brow'd rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess, fair and free,
In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-ealing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two fifter graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bare.
Or whether (as some fages fing)
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 freth-blovı roles wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxon, blithe, and debonair.
Hafte thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jett and youthful fality,
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 fleek;
Sport, that wrinklert Care derides,
And Laughter, holding both his lides
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, fweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew.
To lise with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleafures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And finging startle the dull night,
From his watch-tow'r in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rife;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the tw'fted eglant ne :
While the cock, with l.vely din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,

And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft lifi’ning how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the numb'ring morn, From the fide of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing Thrill: Sometime walking not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right againft the eastern gate, Where the great fun begins his state, Rob'd in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman near at hand Wbifles o'er the forrow'd land, And the milk-maid fingeth blithe, And the mower whets his fithe, . And ev'ry shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilf the landscape round it meafures ; Rafiet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains, on whose barren breaft The lab'ring clouds do often rest, Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide : Tow'rs and battlements it fees, Bofom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps fume beauty lies, The Cynofure of neighb’ring eyes. Hard by a cottage chimney smokes; From betwixt two aged oaks,

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses,
And then in haste her bow's the leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tann'a hay-cock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs found
To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holy-day,
Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd and pulld, she said;
And he by frier's 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 fail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab’rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stret h'd out all the chimney's length,
Baiks at the fire his hairy ftrength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whisp’ring winds foon lull'd afleep. 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 ftore 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 faffron robe with taper clear, And Pomp, and Feast, and Revelry, With mask and antique pageantry; Such fights as youthful puets dream On faminer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Johnson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verle, Such as the meeting foul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetnefs long drawn out, With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running; Untwifting all the chains that tie The bidden foul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden Nuinber on a bed

« AnteriorContinuar »