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And to the tell-tale sun descry

Our conceal'd solemnity

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground

In a light fantastick round.

THE MEASURE.

Break off, break off, I feel the different pace

Of some chaste footing near about this ground.

Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees'

Our number may affright: Some virgin sure

(For so I can distinguish by mine art)

Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms,

And to my wily trains! I shall ere long

Be well-stock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd

About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spungy air,

Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,

And give it false presentments, lest the place

And my quaint habits breed astonishment,

And put the damsel to suspicious flight;

Which must not be, for that's against my course:

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,

And well-plac'd words of glozing courtesy

Baited with reasons not implausible,

Wind me into the easy-hearted man,

And hug him into snares. When once her ey6

Hath met the virtue of this magick dust,

I shall appear some harmless villager,

Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear.
But here she comes; I fairly step aside,
And hearken, if I may, her business here.

The Lady enters.
This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now: Methought it was the sound
Of riot, and ill-manag'd merriment,
Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe,
Stirs up among the loose unletter'd hinds;
When for their teeming flocks, and granges fulr,
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
And thank the Gods amiss. I should he loth
To meet the rudeness, and swill'd insolence,
Of such late wassailers ; yet O ! where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favour of these pines,
Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side,
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind hospitable woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded Even,
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed,
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phcehus' wain.
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labour of my thoughts; 'tis likeliest

They had engag'd their wandering steps too far;

And envious darkness, ere they could return,

Had stole them from me: else, O thievish Night,

Why should'st thou, but for some felonious end,

In thy dark lantern thus close up the.stars,

That Nature hung in Heaven, and fill'd their lamps

With everlasting oil, to give due light

To the misled and lonely traveller?

This is the place, as well as I may guess,

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth.

Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear;

3Tet nought but single darkness do I find.

What might this be? A thousand fantasies

Begin to throng into my memory,

Pf calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,

And aery tongues, that syllable mens names

On sands, and shores, and desart wildernesses.

These thoughts may startle well, but not astound,

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended

3y a strong siding champion, Conscience.—

0 welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering Angel, girt with golden wings, And thou, unblemish'd form of Chastity!

1 see ye visibly, and now believe

That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,

To keep my life and honour unassail'd.
Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err, there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove:
I cannot halloo to my Brothers, but
Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest
I'll venture; for my new-enliven'd spirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.

SONG.

Sweet Echo, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen
Whhin thy aery shell,
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-embroidei'd vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Niircissus are?
O, if thou have
Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's har-
monies.

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Enter Comcs.

Comm. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? Sure something holy lodges in that breast, And with these raptures moves the vocal air To testify his hidden residence. How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven-down Of darkness, till it smil'd ! I have oft heard My mother Circe with the Syrens three, Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, Culling their potent herbs and baleful drags.; Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul, And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, And fell Charybdis murmur'd soft applause: Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, And in sweet madness robb'd it of itself; But such a sacred and home-felt delight, Such sober certainty of waking bliss, I never heard till now. I'll speak to her, And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder 1 Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, Unless the Goddess that in rural shrine Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan; by blest song

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