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And Tiresias and Phineus1 prophets old:
Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid,
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair,
Presented with a universal blank

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Descend from Heaven, Urania,' by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call; for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwell'st; but heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed,
Thou with Eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song. Up led by thee,
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering. With like safety guided down,
Return me to my native element;

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Lest, from this flying steed unreined (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander and forlorn.
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound
Within the visible Diurnal Sphere.

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On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,

And solitude; yet not alone, while thou
Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn
Purples the East. Still govern thou my song, 30
Urania, and fit audience find, though few,
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard2
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears 35
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned

Blind prophets in Greek legends.

1 Literally (the heavenly one") one of the Muses in Greek mythology but here the Divine inspiration, the "heavenly Muse" invoked at the beginning of the poem. Orpheus. Cf. Lycidas, lines. 57-63.

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Those notes to tragic-foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal, on the part of man, revolt
And disobedience; on the part of Heaven,
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given, 10
That brought into this World a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery,
Death's harbinger. Sad task! yet argument
Not less but more heroic than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:
If answerable style I can obtain

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Of patience and heroic martyrdom
Unsung), or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshalled feast
Served up in hall with sewers and seneshals:
The skill of artifice or office mean;
Not that which justly gives heroic name
To person or to poem! Me, of these
Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument
Remains, sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depressed; and much they may if all be mine,
Not hers who brings it nightly to my ear.

Abraham Cowley

1618-1667

THE WISH

(From The Mistress, 1647)

Well then, I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree;
The very honey of all earthly joy
Does, of all meats, the soonest cloy;

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Apollo hunted Daphne so,

Only that she might laurel grow;
And Pan did after Syrinx speed,
Not as a nymph, but for a reed.

What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of a vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine;
The nectarine, and curious' peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach;
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less,
Withdraws into its happiness;-
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas,
Annihilating all that's made

To a green thought in a green shade.

Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Casting the body's vest aside,
My soul into the boughs does glide:
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepared for longer flight,
Waves in its plume the various light.

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But 'twas beyond a mortal's share

To wander solitary there:

He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms and prelate's rage.
He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air;
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close,
Jewels more rich than Ormus2 shows;
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet,
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice;
With cedars chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, he stores the land,
And makes the hollow seas, that roar,
Proclaim the ambergrease on shore;
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The Gospel's pearl upon our coast,
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.

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This coyness, lady, were no crime.

Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone.

How well the skilful gardener drew
Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new,
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run,
And, as it works, the industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we!

How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers?

BERMUDAS

Where the remote Bermudas ride,
In the ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along,
The listening winds received this song.

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"What should we do but sing his praise, 5 That led us through the watery maze, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own?

We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by Indian Ganges' side

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Should'st rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews;
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,

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I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white;
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The Court of Mab, and of the fairy king;
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING (From the same)

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Fear not; the leaves will strew

Gems in abundance upon you:

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I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June and July-flowers;

I sing of May-poles, hock-carts,' wassails,2 wakes,3

Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridalcakes;

1 Slow-jawed. (Chap. or chop a jaw.) Rather let us devour time at once, than be eaten by his slow jaws.

The last carts to return from the fields at harvestLome.

2 It was a rural custom to drink the health of, or to wassail, the fruit trees on Christmas eve.

3 Originally festivals held in celebration of the dedication of a church.

Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,

Against you come, some orient pearls unwept;
Come and receive them while the light

Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill

Retires himself, or else stands still

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Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in

praying:

Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park

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Made green and trimm'd with trees; see how

Devotion gives each house a bough

Or branch: each porch, each door ere this An ark, a tabernacle is,

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Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields and we not see 't?
Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey
The proclamation made for May;

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And sin no more, as we have done, by stay

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This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not

Come, let us go while we are in our prime;

And take the harmless folly of the time.
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun:
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
So when you or I are made

A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight

Lies drowned with us in endless night.

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Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make

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As you, or anything.

We die,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.

THE HAG

(From the same)

The hag is astride

This night for to ride,

The devil and she together;

Through thick and through thin,
Now out and then in,

Though ne'er so foul be the weather.

A thorn or a burr

She takes for a spur,

With a lash of a bramble she rides now;

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