The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Of hearbs and other country messes, To many a youth and many a maid And young and old com forth to play Till the livelong daylight fail; Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, When in one night, ere glimps of morn, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of dores he flings, Ere the first cock his mattin rings. Thus don the tales to bed they creep, 115 By whispering windes soon lull'd asleep. Where throngs of knights and barons bold 120 As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus train. But hail thou Goddes sage and holy! Hail! divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view Ore laid with black, staid Wisdoms hue- And of those dæmons that are found Might raise Musæus from his bower, a. Such notes as warbled to the string Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek. Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold, That own'd the vertuous ring and glass. |