Sadly fits th' Affyrian queen; But far above in spangled fheen Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd, Holds his dear Pfyche sweet intranc'd, And from her fair unspotted side I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, 1015 1020 XVII. LYCIDA S. In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd in his passage from Chester on the Irish feas, 1637, and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth. ET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more YET Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude 10 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 With lucky words favor my destin'd urn, 15 20 And And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, The willows and the hazel copfes green, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy foft lays. 41 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor yet 51 where Deva spreads her wifard stream:55 Ay me! I fondly dream Had ye been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself for her inchanting son, Whom univerfal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spi'rit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To fcorn delights, and live laborious days; Fame Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil, Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies, 80 Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. O fountain Arethuse, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And liftens to the herald of the fea That came in Neptune's plea ; He afk'd the waves, and afk'd the fellon winds, What hard mishap had doom'd this gentle swain ? And fage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd, 95 100 Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 |