Hence loathed Melancholy Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes 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 yclept Euphrosyne, And by men, heart easing Mirth. 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. And in thy right hand lead with thee, 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; Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Mirth and youthful Jollity Quips and Cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Sport that wrinkled Care derides, Laughter holding both his sides. And in thy right hand lead with thee 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 arise; 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 slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Sometime walking not unseen By hedgerow 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. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures While 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 Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies. The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Towered 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 With saffron robe and taper clear, With pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry, Such sights as youthful poets dream On Summer eves by haunted stream. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 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 heaped Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half regained Eurydice. These delights, if thou canst give, Mirth with thee, I mean to live. Hence, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! How little you bested, Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams; Or likest hovering dreams The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight. Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure. Sober, steadfast and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowring with majestic train. Come, but keep thy wonted state With even step and music gait, With looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes; There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, Till with a sad, leaden, downward cast, Thou fix them on the earth as fast, And join with thee calm peace and quiet, Spare fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing. And the mute silence hist along 'Less Philomel will deign a song, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of night. While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Gently o'er the accustomed oak. Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy, Thee, chantress, oft the woods among, I woo to hear thy evensong; And missing thee I walk unseen On the dry, smooth-shaven green, To behold the wand'ring moon, Ridding near her highest noon. Like one that has been led astray, Through the heaven's wide pathless way, And oft as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft on a plat of rising ground, I heard the far oft curfew sound Over some wide watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or, if the air will not permit Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers thro' the room, Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high, lonely tower, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansions in this fleshly nook, And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood or underground, Whose pow'r hath come true consent with planet Or with element. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves; 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 consort as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings, in aery stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on mine 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 embowed roof, With antic pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Castling a dimreligious light. But let my due feet never fail To tread the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antic pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Castling a dimreligious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full voiced quire 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.