His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe, with heavèd stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by some brook
Where no profaner eye may look
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,

With such concert as they keep
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep;

And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid;

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen Genius of the wood.

But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowèd roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light: There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced choir below In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell

Where I may sit, and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth show,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

* IOI *

John Milton.

L'ALLEGRO.

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

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings

And the night raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess fair and free,

In heaven 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 sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying—
There on beds of violets blue

And fresh-blown roses washed in dew

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,

So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 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;

Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides :—
Come, and trip it as you go

On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee
In unreprovèd 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 sweetbriar, 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 listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Sometimes walking not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate

Where the great sun begins his state,
Robed in flames and amber light,

The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand;
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,