Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canacé to wife, That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horfe of brass, On which the Tartar king did ride; And if ought elfe great bards befide In fage and folemn tunes have fung, Of turneys and of trophies hung, Of forefts, and inchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus night oft fee me in thy pale carreer, Till civil-fuited morn appear,
Not trickt and frounct as fhe was wont With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kercheft in a comely cloud.
While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ufher'd with a fhower ftill,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. There in close covert by fome brook, Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth fing, And the waters murmuring,
With fuch concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep;
And let fome ftrange myfterious dream Wave at his wings in aery
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome Spirit to mortals good, Or th' unfeen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloyfter's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antic pillars mafly proof, And ftoried windows richly dight, Cafting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow,
Of every star that Heav'n doth shew, And every herb that fips the dew ; Till old experience do attain To fomething like prophetic ftrain. Thefe pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live.
Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by fome noble perfons of her family, who appear on the scene in paftoral habit, moving toward the feat of state, with this Song.
OOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look, What fudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence defcry, Too divine to be mistook:
To whom our vows and wishes bend; Here our folemn search hath end.
*This poem is only part of an Entertainment, or Mafk, as it is alfo intitled in Milton's Manufcript, the reft probably being of a different nature, or compofed by a different hand.
Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erft fo lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse Of detraction from her praife; Lefs than half we find expreft, Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads, In circle round her fhining throne, Shooting her beams like filver threads: This, this is she alone,
Sitting like a Goddess bright, In the center of her light.
Might the the wife Latona be, Or the towered Cybele,
Mother of a hundred Gods;
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
As they come forward, the Genius of the wood ap
pears, and, turning toward them, speaks.
STAY, gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I fee bright honor sparkle through your eyes ;
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung Of that renowned flood, fo often fung, Divine Alpheus, who by fecret fluce Stole under feas to meet his Arethufe; VOL. III.
And ye, the breathing rofes of the wood, Fair filver-bufkin'd Nymphs as great and good, I know this queft of yours, and free intent Was all in honor and devotion meant To the great mistress of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all helpful fervice will comply To further this night's glad folemnity; And lead you where ye may more near behold What fhallow-fearching Fame hath left untold; Which I full oft amidst these fhades alone Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon : For know by lot from Jove I am the Power Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, To nurfe the faplings tall, and curl the grove With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove. And all my plants I save from nightly ill Of noifome winds, and blasting vapors chill: And from the boughs brush off the evil dew, And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue, Or what the crofs dire-looking planet smites, Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites. When evening gray doth rife, I fetch my round Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground, And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the flumbering leaves, or taffel'd horn Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
'With puiffant words, and murmurs made to blefs; 60 But elfe in deep of night, when drowsiness
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