Daily devours apace; and nothing sed,
But that two-handed engine at the door,
Stands ready to fmite once, and smite no more.
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past
That fhrunk thy ftreams; return, Sicilian muse,
And call the vales, and bid them hither caft
Their bells, and flourets of a thousand hues. 135
Ye valleys low, where the milde whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the fwart ftar fparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied showres,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowres ; 141
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale geffamine,
The white pink, and the panfie fret with jeat,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well attir'd woodbine,
With cowflips wan that hang the pensive hed,
And every flower that fad embroidery wears;
Bid Amaranthus all his beauty fhed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrow the laureat herse where Lycid lies:
For fo to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false furmife. Ay me! whilst thee the shores and founding seas Wash far away, whereere thy bones are hurl'd, Whether beyond the ftormy Hebrides,
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moift vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vifion of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the haples youth.
Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your forrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar;
So finks the day-star in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning fky: 171 So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the
Where other groves, and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpreffive nuptial fong,
In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love;
There entertain him all the faints above,
In folemn troops and sweet societies,
That fing, and finging in their glory move, 180
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the fhepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,
In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Thus fang the uncouth fwain to th❜oakes and
rills,
While the ftill morn went on with fandals gray,
He touch'd the tender ftops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay:
And now the fun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay;
At laft he rofe, and twitch'd his mantle blew :
Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.
O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy fpray Warbl'ft at eeve, when all the woods are ftill, Thou with fresh hope the lovers heart doft fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the fhallow cuccoo's bill Portend fuccefs in love; O, if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely fing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeles doom in fom grove ny: 10 As thou from yeer to yeer haft fung too late
my relief; yet hadft no reason why:
Whether the Mufe, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I ferve, and of their train am I.
SHOULD Once the world refolve t'abolish
All that's ridiculous and foolish,
It would have nothing left to do,
T'apply in jeft or earnest to,
No bufinefs of importance, play,
Or ftate, to pass its time away.
Who doth not know with what fierce rage
Opinions, true or falfe, engage;
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