| |
| HENCE, loathed Melancholy, | |
| Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born! | |
| In Stygian cave forlorn, | |
| ’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, | |
| Find out some uncouth cell, | 5 |
| Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, | |
| And the night-raven sings; | |
| There under ebon shades, and low-brow’d rocks, | |
| As ragged as thy locks, | |
| In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. | 10 |
| But come, thou Goddess fair and free, | |
| In heav’n y-clep’d Euphrosyne, | |
| And by men, heart-easing Mirth, | |
| Whom lovely Venus at a birth, | |
| With two sister Graces more, | 15 |
| To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; | |
| Or whether (as some sager sing) | |
| The frolic wind that breathes the spring, | |
| Zephyr with Aurora playing, | |
| As he met her once a-Maying; | 20 |
| There on beds of violets blue, | |
| And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, | |
| Fill’d her with thee, a daughter fair, | |
| So buxom, blithe, and debonair. | |
| Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee | 25 |
| Jest, and youthful Jollity, | |
| Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, | |
| Nods, and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles, | |
| Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, | |
| And love to live in dimple sleek; | 30 |
| Sport that wrinkled Care derides, | |
| And Laughter holding both his sides. | |
| Come, and trip it as ye go, | |
| On the light fantastic toe; | |
| And in thy right hand lead with thee | 35 |
| The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; | |
| And if I give thee honor due, | |
| Mirth, admit me of thy crew, | |
| To live with her, and live with thee, | |
| In unreprovèd pleasures free; | 40 |
| To hear the lark begin his flight, | |
| And singing startle the dull night | |
| From his watch-tower in the skies, | |
| Till the dappled dawn doth rise; | |
| Then to come in spite of sorrow, | 45 |
| And at my window bid good morrow, | |
| Through the sweetbrier, or the vine, | |
| Or the twisted eglantine: | |
| While the cock with lively din | |
| Scatters the rear of Darkness thin, | 50 |
| And to the stack, or the barn-door, | |
| Stoutly struts his dames before: | |
| Oft listening how the hounds and horn | |
| Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, | |
| From the side of some hoar hill, | 55 |
| Through the high wood echoing shrill: | |
| Some time walking, not unseen, | |
| By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, | |
| Right against the eastern gate, | |
| Where the great sun begins his state, | 60 |
| Robed in flames, and amber light, | |
| The clouds in thousand liveries dight; | |
| While the ploughman near at hand | |
| Whistles o’er the furrowed land, | |
| And the milkmaid singeth blithe, | 65 |
| And the mower whets his scythe, | |
| And every shepherd tells his tale | |
| Under the hawthorn in the dale. | |
| Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures | |
| Whilst the landscape round it measures; | 70 |
| Russet lawns, and fallows gray, | |
| Where the nibbling flocks do stray; | |
| Mountains, on whose barren breast | |
| The laboring clouds do often rest; | |
| Meadows trim with daisies pied, | 75 |
| Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; | |
| Towers and battlements it sees | |
| Bosomed high in tufted trees, | |
| Where perhaps some beauty lies, | |
| The cynosure of neighboring eyes; | 80 |
| Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, | |
| From betwixt two aged oaks, | |
| Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, | |
| Are at their savory dinner set | |
| Of herbs, and other country messes, | 85 |
| Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; | |
| And then in haste her bow’r she leaves, | |
| With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; | |
| Or, if the earlier season lead, | |
| To the tann’d haycock in the mead. | 90 |
| Sometimes with secure delight | |
| The upland hamlets will invite, | |
| When the merry bells ring round, | |
| And the jocund rebecs sound | |
| To many a youth, and many a maid, | 95 |
| Dancing in the checker’d shade; | |
| And young and old come forth to play | |
| On a sunshine holiday, | |
| Till the livelong daylight fail. | |
| Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, | 100 |
| With stories told of many a feat, | |
| How fairy Mab the junkets eat; | |
| She was pincht and pull’d, she said, | |
| And he by friar’s lanthorn led, | |
| Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat, | 105 |
| To earn his cream-bowl duly set, | |
| When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, | |
| His shadowy flail hath thresh’d the corn | |
| That ten day-laborers could not end; | |
| Then lies him down the lubbar fiend, | 110 |
| 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, | 115 |
| By whispering winds soon lull’d asleep. | |
| Tower’d cities please us then, | |
| And the busy hum of men, | |
| Where throngs of knights and barons bold | |
| In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, | 120 |
| With store of ladies, whose 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 | 125 |
| In saffron robe, with taper clear, | |
| And pomp, and feast, and revelry, | |
| With mask, and antique pageantry, | |
| Such sights as youthful poets dream | |
| On summer eves by haunted stream. | 130 |
| Then to the well-trod stage anon, | |
| If Jonson’s learned sock be on, | |
| Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy’s child, | |
| Warble his native wood-notes wild. | |
| And ever against eating cares, | 135 |
| Lap me in soft Lydian airs, | |
| Married to immortal verse, | |
| Such as the meeting soul may pierce, | |
| In notes, with many a winding bout | |
| Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out, | 140 |
| With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, | |
| The melting voice through mazes running, | |
| Untwisting all the chains that tie | |
| The hidden soul of harmony; | |
| That Orpheus’ self may heave his head | 145 |
| From golden slumber on a bed | |
| Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear | |
| Such strains as would have won the ear | |
| Of Pluto, to have quite set free | |
| His half regain’d Eurydice. | 150 |
| èThese delights if thou canst give, | |
| Mirth, with thee I mean to live. | |
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