L’Allegro |
“The cheerful one” (Italian) |
Hence° loathed Melancholy |
away from here |
Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born, |
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In Stygian Cave forlorn° |
lost |
’Mongst° horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy, |
among |
Find out som uncouth° cell, [5] |
unknown |
Wher brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings, |
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And the night-Raven sings; |
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There under Ebon° shades, and low-brow’d° Rocks, |
ebony — overhanging |
As ragged as thy Locks, |
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In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. [10] |
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But com thou Goddes fair and free, |
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In Heav’n ycleap’d° Euphrosyne, |
called |
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, |
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Whom lovely Venus at a birth |
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With two sister Graces more [15] |
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To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; |
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Or whether (as som Sager° sing) |
some wiser people |
The frolick° Wind that breathes the Spring, |
joyous |
Zephir with Aurora playing, |
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As he met her once a Maying, [20] |
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There on Beds of Violets blew,° |
blue |
And fresh-blown° Roses washt in dew, |
newly blossomed |
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair, |
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So bucksom,° blith,° and debonair.° |
lively — happy — gracious |
Haste° thee nymph, and bring with thee [25] |
hurry |
Jest and youthful Jollity,° |
cheerfulness |
Quips° and Cranks,° and wanton Wiles,° |
sayings — jokes — tricks |
Nods, and Becks,° and Wreathed° Smiles, |
beckonings — curled |
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, |
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And love to live in dimple sleek; [30] |
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Sport that wrincled Care derides,° |
laughs at contemptuously |
And Laughter holding both his sides. |
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Com, and trip° it as ye go |
dance |
On the light fantastick toe, |
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And in thy right hand lead with thee, [35] |
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The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty; |
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And if I give thee honour due, |
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Mirth, admit me of thy crue |
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To live with her, and live with thee, |
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In unreproved° pleasures free; [40] |
blameless |
To hear the Lark begin his flight, |
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And singing startle the dull night, |
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From his watch-towre in the skies, |
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Till the dappled° dawn doth rise; |
patchy |
Then to com in spight° of sorrow, [45] |
defiance |
And at my window bid good morrow,° |
morning |
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine, |
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Or the twisted Eglantine.° |
sweetbriar |
While the Cock with lively din,° |
noise |
Scatters the rear° of darknes thin, [50] |
last trace |
And to the stack,° or the Barn dore, |
haystack |
Stoutly struts his Dames° before, |
women |
Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn, |
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Chearly rouse the slumbring morn, |
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From the side of som Hoar° Hill, [55] |
white with old age |
Through the high wood echoing shrill. |
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Som time walking not unseen |
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By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green, |
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Right against the Eastern gate, |
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Wher the great Sun begins his state,° [60] |
procession |
Rob’d in flames, and Amber light, |
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The clouds in thousand Liveries° dight.° |
uniforms — dressed |
While the Plowman neer at hand, |
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Whistles ore the Furrow’d° Land, |
plowed |
And the Milkmaid singeth blithe,° [65] |
happily |
And the Mower whets° his sithe, |
sharpens |
And every Shepherd tells his tale |
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Under the Hawthorn in the dale. |
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Streit° mine eye hath caught new pleasures |
immediately |
Whilst the Lantskip° round it measures, [70] |
landscape |
Russet° Lawns, and Fallows° Gray, |
reddish brown — cultivated ground |
Where the nibling flocks do stray, |
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Mountains on whose barren brest |
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The labouring clouds do often rest: |
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Meadows trim with Daisies pide,° [75] |
spotted |
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide. |
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Towers, and Battlements it sees |
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Boosom’d° high in tufted Trees, |
held |
Wher perhaps som beauty lies, |
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The Cynosure° of neighbouring eyes. [80] |
object of attention |
Hard° by, a Cottage chimney smokes, |
near |
From betwixt° two aged Okes, |
between |
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, |
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Are at their savory dinner set |
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Of Hearbs,° and other Country Messes,° [85] |
succulent plants — meals |
Which the neat-handed° Phillis dresses; |
dexterous |
And then in haste her Bowre° she leaves, |
dwelling |
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves;° |
tie up the stalks of grain |
Or if the earlier season lead |
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To the tann’d° Haycock° in the Mead,° [90] |
dried by the sun — haystack — meadow |
Som times with secure° delight |
careless |
The up-land Hamlets will invite, |
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When the merry Bells ring round, |
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And the jocond° rebecks° sound |
cheerful — stringed instruments like fiddles |
To many a youth, and many a maid, [95] |
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Dancing in the Chequer’d shade; |
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And young and old com forth to play |
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On a Sunshine Holyday, |
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Till the live-long day-light fail, |
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Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale, [100] |
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With stories told of many a feat, |
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How Faery Mab the junkets° eat, |
sweet dishes |
She was pincht, and pull’d she sed, |
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And he by Friars Lanthorn° led |
lantern |
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet [105] |
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To ern his Cream-bowle duly set, |
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When in one night, ere glimps of morn, |
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His shadowy Flale° hath thresh’d the Corn° |
flail (for threshing) — grain |
That ten day-labourers could not end, |
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Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend. [110] |
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And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s° length, |
fireplace’s |
Basks at the fire his hairy strength; |
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And Crop-full° out of dores he flings, |
satiated |
Ere° the first Cock his Mattin° rings. |
before — morning song |
Thus don° the Tales, to bed they creep, [115] |
finished |
By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep. |
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Towred Cities please us then, |
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And the busie humm of men, |
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Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, |
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In weeds° of Peace high triumphs hold, [120] |
clothes |
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies |
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Rain influence, and judge the prise |
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Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend |
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To win her Grace, whom all commend. |
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There let Hymen oft appear [125] |
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In Saffron° robe, with Taper° clear, |
bright yellow — candle |
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, |
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With mask, and antique° Pageantry, |
both “old” and “wild’ |
Such sights as youthfull Poets dream |
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On Summer eeves by haunted stream. [130] |
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Then to the well-trod° stage anon, |
much walked-on |
If Jonsons learned Sock be on, |
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Or sweetest Shakespear fancies° childe, |
imagination’s |
Warble° his native Wood-notes° wilde, |
sing — birdsong |
And ever against eating Cares, [135] |
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Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,° |
songs |
Married to immortal verse, |
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Such as the meeting soul may pierce |
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In notes, with many a winding bout° |
orbit |
Of lincked sweetnes long drawn out, [140] |
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With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, |
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The melting voice through mazes running; |
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Untwisting all the chains that ty |
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The hidden soul of harmony. |
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That Orpheus self may heave his head [145] |
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From golden slumber on a bed |
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Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear |
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Such streins° as would have won the ear |
melodies |
Of Pluto, to have quite° set free |
completely |
His half regain’d Eurydice. [150] |
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These delights, if thou canst give, |
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Mirth with thee, I mean to live. |
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Il Penseroso |
“The thoughtful one” (Italian) |
Hence° vain deluding joyes, |
away from here |
The brood° of folly° without father bred, |
offspring — foolishness |
How little you bested,° |
help |
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes;° |
unimportant things |
Dwell in som idle brain, [5] |
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And fancies° fond° with gaudy shapes possess, |
imagined things — foolish |
As thick and numberless |
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As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams, |
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Or likest hovering dreams |
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The fickle Pensioners° of Morpheus train.° [10] |
attendants — followers |
But hail thou Goddes, sage° and holy, |
wise |
Hail divinest Melancholy, |
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Whose Saintly visage° is too bright |
face |
To hit° the Sense of human sight; |
suit |
And therfore to our weaker view, [15] |
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Ore laid° with black staid Wisdoms hue. |
darkened |
Black, but such as in esteem, |
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Prince Memnons sister might beseem,° |
look |
Or that Starr’d Ethiope° Queen that strove |
African |
To set her beauties praise above [20] |
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The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended. |
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Yet thou art higher far descended, |
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Thee bright-hair’d Vesta long of yore, |
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To solitary Saturn bore;° |
born |
His daughter she (in Saturns raign, [25] |
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Such mixture was not held a stain). |
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Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades |
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He met her, and in secret shades |
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Of woody Ida’s inmost grove, |
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While yet there was no fear of Jove. [30] |
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Com pensive Nun, devout and pure, |
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Sober, stedfast, and demure,° |
modest |
All in a robe of darkest grain,° |
hue |
Flowing with majestick train,° |
followers |
And sable° stole of Cipres Lawn,° [35] |
black — fabric |
Over thy decent° shoulders drawn. |
modest |
Com, but keep thy wonted° state,° |
usual — dignity |
With eev’n step, and musing gate, |
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And looks commercing with the skies, |
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Thy rapt° soul sitting in thine eyes: [40] |
ecstatic, carried away |
There held in holy passion still, |
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Forget thy self to Marble,° till |
turn into a marble statue |
With a sad° Leaden downward cast,° |
serious — look |
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.° |
tightly |
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, [45] |
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Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, |
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And hears the Muses in a ring, |
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Ay° round about Joves Altar sing. |
always |
And adde to these retired leasure, |
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That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure; [50] |
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But first, and chiefest, with thee bring, |
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Him that yon° soars on golden wing, |
yonder, over there |
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, |
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The Cherub° Contemplation, |
angel |
And the mute Silence hist° along, [55] |
urge |
’Less° Philomel will daign° a Song, |
unless — see fit to |
In her sweetest, saddest plight,° |
mood |
Smoothing the rugged brow of night, |
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While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke, |
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Gently o’re th’ accustom’d° Oke; [60] |
familiar |
Sweet Bird that shunn’st the noise of folly, |
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Most musicall, most melancholy! |
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Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among, |
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I woo to hear thy eeven-Song; |
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And missing thee, I walk unseen [65] |
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On the dry smooth-shaven Green, |
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To behold the wandring Moon, |
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Riding neer her highest noon, |
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Like one that had bin led astray |
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Through the Heav’ns wide pathles way; [70] |
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And oft, as if her head she bow’d, |
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Stooping through a fleecy cloud. |
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Oft on a Plat° of rising ground, |
field |
I hear the far-off Curfeu° sound, |
curfew bell |
Over som wide-water’d shoar, [75] |
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Swinging slow with sullen° roar; |
mournful |
Or if the Ayr will not permit, |
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Som still removed place will fit, |
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Where glowing Embers through the room |
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Teach light to counterfeit° a gloom, [80] |
imitate |
Far from all resort of mirth, |
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Save the Cricket on the hearth, |
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Or the Belmans drousie charm,° |
the night watchman’s invocations |
To bless the dores from nightly harm: |
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Or let my Lamp at midnight hour, [85] |
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Be seen in som high lonely Towr, |
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Where I may oft out-watch° the Bear, |
remain watching longer |
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear |
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The spirit of Plato to unfold |
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What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold [90] |
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The immortal mind that hath forsook |
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Her mansion in this fleshly nook: |
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And of those Dæmons that are found |
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In fire, air, flood, or under ground, |
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Whose power hath a true consent° [95] |
agreement |
With Planet, or with Element. |
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Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy |
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In Scepter’d° Pall° com sweeping by, |
royal — robe |
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line, |
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Or the tale of Troy divine. [100] |
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Or what (though rare) of later age, |
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Ennobled hath the Buskind stage. |
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But, O sad Virgin, that thy power |
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Might raise Musæus from his bower,° |
place of rest |
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing [105] |
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Such notes as warbled° to the string, |
sang |
Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek, |
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And made Hell grant what Love did seek. |
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Or call up him° that left half told |
[Chaucer] |
The story of Cambuscan bold, [110] |
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Of Camball, and of Algarsife, |
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And who had Canace to wife, |
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That own’d the vertuous° Ring and Glass, |
powerful |
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass, |
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On which the Tartar King did ride; [115] |
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And if ought° els, great Bards beside, |
anything |
In sage° and solemn tunes have sung, |
wise |
Of Turneys° and of Trophies hung; |
tournaments |
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,° |
dreary |
Where more is meant then meets the ear. [120] |
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Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,° |
journey |
Till civil-suited° Morn appeer, |
decent-looking |
Not trickt and frounc’t° as she was wont,° |
dressed up — accustomed to |
With the Attick Boy to hunt, |
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But Cherchef’t° in a comly Cloud, [125] |
wrapped |
While rocking Winds are Piping loud, |
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Or usher’d with a shower still,° |
mild |
When the gust° hath blown his fill, |
wind |
Ending on the russling Leaves, |
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With minute drops from off the Eaves. [130] |
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And when the Sun begins to fling |
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His flaring beams, me Goddes bring |
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To arched walks of twilight groves, |
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And shadows brown that Sylvan° loves |
god of woodlands |
Of Pine, or monumental Oake, [135] |
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Where the rude° Ax with heaved stroke, |
primitive |
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,° |
intimidate |
Or fright them from their hallow’d haunt.° |
dwelling place |
There in close covert° by som Brook, |
hidden recess |
Where no profaner° eye may look, [140] |
unholy |
Hide me from Day’s garish eie, |
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While the Bee with Honied thie,° |
thight |
That at her flowry work doth sing, |
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And the Waters murmuring |
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With such consort° as they keep, [145] |
harmony |
Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep; |
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And let som strange mysterious dream, |
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Wave at his Wings in Airy stream, |
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Of lively portrature display’d, |
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Softly on my eye-lids laid. [150] |
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And as I wake, sweet musick breath |
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Above, about, or underneath, |
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Sent by som spirit to mortals good, |
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Or th’ unseen Genius° of the Wood. |
guardian spirit |
But let my due feet never fail, [155] |
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To walk the studious Cloysters pale, |
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And love the high embowed Roof, |
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With antick° Pillars massy proof, |
both “old” and “outlandish” |
And storied° Windows richly dight,° |
showing scenes of stories — decked out |
Casting a dimm religious light. [160] |
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There let the pealing° Organ blow, |
ringing |
To the full voic’d Quire° below, |
choir |
In Service high, and Anthems cleer, |
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As may with sweetnes, through mine ear, |
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Dissolve me into extasies, [165] |
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And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes. |
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And may at last my weary age |
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Find out the peacefull hermitage, |
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The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell, |
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Where I may sit and rightly spell,° [170] |
study |
Of every Star that Heav’n doth shew,° |
show |
And every Herb° that sips the dew; |
plant |
Till old experience do attain |
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To somthing like Prophetic strain.° |
tone |
These pleasures Melancholy give, [175] |
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And I with thee will choose to live. |
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