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He feels from Juda's land
The dreaded Infant's hand;

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn:
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide;

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine :
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.

XXVI. So when the sun in bed, Curtain'd with cloudy red,

230 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail ;

Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays

235 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze.

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her Babe to rest.

Time is our tedious song should here have ending:
Heav'ns youngest teemed star
Hath fixt her polisht car,

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending ;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnest angels sit in order serviceable.




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.

But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne
And by men, heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
With two sister Graces more,

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 washt in dew, Filld 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 wreathed 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 honour due, Mirth! admit me of thy crew;






To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
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,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine:
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin;
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill
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,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight:
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land;
And the milkmaid singeth blithe ;
And the mower whets his sithe;
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 :
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray ;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom’d high in tufted trees ;
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks ;
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,





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With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season leai,
To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The up-land hamlets will invite;
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How faery Mab the junkets eat.
She was pincht and pulld, she sed;
And he, by friars' lantern led ;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
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-labourers 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 soon lulld 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 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,
In saffron robe, with taper clear;

pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream,
On summer eves by haunted streain.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on;
Or sweetest Shakespear, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

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





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Married to immortal verse;
Such as the meeting soul 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 tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
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.

These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth! with thee I mean to live.



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