Nor let the water rising high, SONG TO PAN. ALL ye woods, and trees, and bowers, That inhabit in the lakes, In the pleasant springs or brakes, To our sound, Whilst we greet All this ground With his honour and his name He is great, and he is just, Thus be honoured. Daffodillies, Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Let us fling, Whilst we sing, Ever holy, Ever holy, Ever honoured, ever young! Thus great Pan is ever sung. THE SATYR'S LEAVE-TAKING. HOU divinest, fairest, brightest, THOU Thou most powerful maid, and whitest, Thou most virtuous and most blessed, Eyes of stars, and golden tressèd The sailing rack, or nimbly take And bring thee coral, making way Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus' lute? Holy virgin, I will dance Round about these woods as quick *The functions of the Satyr in this pastoral and the Attendant Spirit in Comus are identical; and there are few passages in Milton finer or more exquisite than this last address of the Satyr. The farewell of the Attendant Spirit is a direct imitation, and the lines toward the end are inferior in beauty to the original. The couplet, 'But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run,' is transplanted almost verbally from the first speech of the Satyr: 'I must go, and I must run, Swifter than the fiery sun.' As a whole, however, the last speech of the Attendant Spirit transcends its prototype in magnificence of versification, and the gorgeous loveliness of its imagery. THE LOVER'S LEGACY TO HIS CRUEL MISTRESS. GO, happy heart! for thou shalt lie Intombed in her for whom I die, Example of her cruelty. Tell her, if she chance to chide That it was for her I died. If a tear escape her eye, Your body was the sacred shrine, Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine. THE WARNING OF ORPHEUS. RPHEUS I am, come from the deeps below, ORP To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show. To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell There's none that come, but first they pass through hell: Hark, how they howl for over-daring! All these were men. They that be fools, and die for fame, They lose their name; * Ascribed to Fletcher. Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires They sit, and curse their lost desires; Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears, "Till women waft them over in their tears. 0円 TO VENUS. H, fair sweet goddess, queen of loves, Humble-eyed, and ever rueing These poor hearts, their loves pursuing! Star of dear content and pleasure, Thou continual youth and spring; Grant this lady her desires, And every hour we'll crown thy fires. THE BATTLE OF PELUSIUM. ARM, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in; Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win. Behold from yonder hill the foe appears; Bows, bills, glaves, arrows, shields, and spears! They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes: The * One of the commentators proposes to read cloud for wood. These emendations are very provoking, because they are supported by a certain show of reason. But the writers of this hurricane song were not thinking of the literal reason of the matter, but of the suggestiveness of the image. And they have succeeded better than their critic. coming of the dark wood is grander than the cloud. The rout and uproar of battle are admirably depicted. There are few specimens of this kind in these Dramatic Songs. The most animated and picturesque is a Sea-fight by Dryden. See how the arrows fly, Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara! Hark how the horses charge! in, boys, boys, in! Oh, how they die! Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder! To the rocks, to the floods, They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow! Hark how the soldiers hollow! Hey, hey! Brave Diocles is dead, THE LOYAL SUBJECT.* THE BROOM-MAN'S SONG. BROOM, broom, the bonny broom! In the wars we have no more room, For a kiss take two; If those will not do, For a little, little pleasure, |