And then in hafte her bower the leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier feafon lead

To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with fecure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecs found

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To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd fhade;

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And young and old come forth to play
On a funshine holy-day,

Till the live-long day-light fail;

Then to the fpicy nut-brown ale,

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With stories told of many a feat,
How faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht and pull'd, she said,
And he by frier's lanthorn led

Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flale hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-laborers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

By whispering winds foon lull'd asleep.

Towred 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, whofe 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 poets dream,
On fummer eves by haunted ftream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonfon's learned sock be on,

Or fweetest Shakespear, fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

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And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in foft Lydian airs,

Married to immortal verfe,

Such as the meeting foul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,

With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that ty

The hidden foul of harmony;

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That Orpheus' felf may heave his head
From golden flumber on a bed

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of

Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear

Such ftrains as would have won the ear

Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regain'd Eurydice.

Thefe delights if thou canst give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

XIV.

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I L

PENSER O SO.

HENCE, vain deluding joys,
The brood of folly without father bred,
brood

How little you bested,

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

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

As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likelieft hovering dreams

The fickle penfioners of Morpheus' train.
But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy!
Hail, divinest Melancholy!

Whofe faintly visage is too bright
To hit the fenfe of human fight,

And therefore to our weaker view

O'erlaid with black, staid wisdom's hue;
Black, but fuch as in esteem

Prince Memnon's fifter might befeem,
Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that ftrove
To fet her beauties' praise above

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The

The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended :

Yet thou art higher far descended,

Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore

To folitary Saturn bore;

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

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And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,

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Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,

And hears the Mufes in a ring

Ay round about Jove's altar fing:

And add to these retired Leifure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;

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But

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But firft, and chiefest, 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 fong,
In her sweeteft, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er th' accuftom'd oak;

Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noife of folly,
Moft mufical, moft melancholy !

Thee, chauntrefs, oft, the woods among,
I woo to hear thy even-fong;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry smooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led aftray

Through the Heav'n's wide pathless way,
And oft, as if her head fhe bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar;
Or if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,

Where glowing embers through the room

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,