With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn. The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me, I fondly dream, “Had ye been there" - for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, When by the rout that made the hideous roar To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise To scorn delights and live laborious days; And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears: Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies; But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." And listens to the herald of the sea, That came in Neptune's plea. He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, They know not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed; Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: "How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 115 120 125 130 135 140 145 150 Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise, 155 160 And O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 165 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, 175 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 180 185 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals grey; He touched the tender stops of various quills, On His Blindness When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; Truth and Conformity (From Areopagitica) And now the time in special is, by privilege to write and speak what may help to the further discussing of matters in agitation. The temple of Janus with his two controversal faces might now not unsignificantly be set open. And though 5 all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter? Her confuting is the best and 10 surest suppressing. He who hears what praying there is for |