Which these dun fhades will ne'er report.
Hail, Goddess of Nocturnal sport,
Dark vail'd Cotytte, t' whom the fecret flame
Of midnight Torches burns; mysterious Dame,
That ne'er art call'd, but when the Dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness fpits her thickest gloom,
And makes one blot of all the Air,
Stay thy cloudy Ebon Chair,
Wherein thou rid'ft with Hecat', and befriend
Us thy vow'd Priefts, till utmost end
Of all thy dues be done, and none left out ;
Ere the blabbing eastern Scout,
The nice Morn, on th' Indian steep.
From her cabin'd loop-hole peep,
And to the tell-tale Sun defcry
Our conceal'd Solemnity.
Come, knit hands, and beat the ground
In a light fantastick round.
Break off, break off; I feel the different pace
Of fome chafte footing near about this ground.
Run to your shrouds, within thefe Brakes and Trees
Our number may affright: Some Virgin fure
(For fo I can diftinguish by mine Art,)
Benighted in thefe Woods. Now to my charms,
And to my wily trains. Ifhall ere long
Be well-ftock'd with as fair a herd, as graz'd
About my Mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazling Spells into the fpungy air,
Of pow'r to cheat the eye with blearillufion,
And give it falfe prefentments, left the place.
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
And put the Damsel to suspicious flight;
Which must not be: for that's against my course,
I under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-plac'd words of glozing courtesie,
Baited with reasons not unplaufible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into fnares. When once her eye
Hath met the virtue of this Magic dust,
I shall appear fome harmless Villager,
Whom thrift keeps up about his Country gear.
But here she comes, I fairly ftep afide
And hearken, if I may, her business here.
This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My best guide now; methought it was the found Of Riot and ill-manag'd Merriment,
Such as the jocond Flute, or gamefome Pipe
Stirs up among the loose unletter'd Hinds,
When for their teeming Flocks, and granges full
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the Gods amifs. I should be loth
To meet the rudenefs, and fwill'd infolence
Of fuch late Waffailers; yet O where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangl'd Wood ?
My Brothers when they faw me wearied out
With this long way, refolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these Pines,
Stept, as they faid, to the next Thicket fide,
To bring me Berries, or fuch cooling fruit,
As the kind hofpitable Woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded Ev'n
Like a fad Votarift in Palmer's weed
Rofe from the hindmoft wheels of Phebus' wain.
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts; 'tis likelieft
They had engag'd their wandring steps too far,
And envious darkness, ere they could return,
Had ftole them from me; elfe, O thievifh night,
Why should'ft thou, but for fome felonious end,
In thy dark lanthorn thus close up the Stars,
That Nature hung in Heav'n, and fill'd their Lamps.
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the mif-led and lonely Traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence even now the tumult of loud Mirth
Was rife, and perfect in my lift?ning ear;
Yet nought but single darkness do I find..
What might this be? A thousand fantasies.
Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues, that fyllable mens names
On Sands, and Shoars, and defart Wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a ftrong fiding champion, Confcience.
welcome, pure-ey'd faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings, And thou unblemisht form of Chastity;
I fee ye vifibly, and now believe
That he, the supreme Good, t'whom all things ill
Are but as flavish officers of vengeance,
Would fend a glift'ring Guardian, if need were
To keep my life and honour unaffail'da
Was I deceiv'd, or did a fable cloud
Turn forth her filver lining on the night ?.
there does a fable cloud
Turn forth her filver lining on the night,
And cafts a gleam over this, tufted Grove.
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
Such noife as I can make to be heard fartheft
I'll venture, for my new enliven'd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.
SWEET Echo, Sweetest Nymph, that liv'ft unseen
Within thy airy shell,
By flow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroider'd vale,
Where the love-lorn Nightingale
Nightly to thee her fad Song mourneth well;
Canft thou not tell me of a gentle Pair
That likeft thy Narciffus are?
Hid them in fome flow'ry Cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet Queen of Parly, Daughter of the Sphere ;
So may'ft thou be tranflated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav'n's barmonies.
Comus. Can any mortál mixture of Earth's mould
Breathe fuch Divine inchanting ravishment ?
Sure fomething holy lodges in that breast,
And with thefe raptures moves the vocal air
To teftifie his hidden refidence ;
How fweetly did they float upon the wings
Of filence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall fmoothing the raven down
Of darkness till it fmil'd: I have oft heard
My Mother Circe with the Sirens three,
Amidst the flow'ry-kirtled Naiades,
Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs,
Who, as they fung, would take the prifon'd Soul,
And lap it in Elyfium; Scylla wept,
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applaufe:
Yet they in pleasing flumber lull'd the Senfe,
And in fweet madness robb'd it of itself.
But fuch a facred, and home-felt delight,
Such fober certainty of waking Blifs
I never heard till now. I'll fpeak to her,
And she shall be my Queen. Hail, foreign wonder,
Whom certain these rough fhades did never breed ;
Unless the Goddess that in rural fhrine
Dwell'ft here with Pan, or Silvan, by bleft Song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly Fog
To touch the profperous growth of this tall Wood.
La. Nay, gentle Shepherd, ill is loft that praife,
That is addreft to unattending Ears :
Not any boaft of skill, but extreme shift
How to regain my fever'd company,
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