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Like their God, Pan; and from fir thickets deep
Come up the Satyrs, joining the wild crew,
And capering for thy pleasure: From each yew,
And oak, and beech, the Wood-nymphs oft peep out
To see the revelry, while merry shout
And noisy laughter rings about the wood,
And thy lyre cheers the darken'd solitude

Oh, come! while we do sound
Our flutes and pleasant-pealing lyres around !
Oh, most high prophet!—thou that showest men
Deep-hidden knowledge: thou that from its den
Bringest futurity, that it comes by
In visible shape, passing before the eye
Shrouded in visions : thou in whose high power
Are health and sickness: thou who oft dost shower
Great Plagues upon the nations, with hot breath
Scorching away their souls, and sending death
Like fiery mist amid them; or again,
Like the sweet breeze that comes with summer rain,
Touching the soul with joy, thou sendest out
Bright Health among the people, who about
With dewy feet and fanning wings doth step,
And touch each poor, pale cheek with startling lip,
Filling it with rich blood, that leaps anew
Out from the shrivell'd heart, and courses through
The long forsaken veins !-Oh thou, whose name
Is sung by all, let us, too, dare to claim

Thy holy presence here! Hear us, bright god, and come in beauty near! Oh thou, the lover of the springing bow! Who ever in the gloomy woods dost throw Thine arrows to the mark, like the keen flight Of those thine arrows that with mid-day light Thou proudly pointest: thou from whom grim bears And lordly lions flee, with strange wild fears, And hide among the mountains : thou whose cry Sounds often in the woods, where whirl and fly The time-worn leaves-when, with a merry train, Bacchus is on the hills, and on the plain The full-arm'd Ceres—when upon the sea The brine-gods sound their horns, and merrily The whole earth rings with pleasure-then thy voice Stills into silence every stirring noise, With utmost sweetness pealing on the hills, And in the echo of the dancing rills, And o'er the sea, and on the busy plain, And on the air, until all voices wane

Before its influenceOh come, great god, be ever our defence ! By that most gloomy day, when with a cry Young Hyacinth fell down, and his dark eye Was fillid with dimming blood—when on a bed Of his own flowers he laid his wounded head, Breathing deep sighs: by those heart-cherish'd eyes Of long-loved Hyacinthby all the sighs That thou, oh young Apollo! then didst pour On every gloomy hill and desolate shore, Weeping at thy great soul, and making dull Thy cver-quenchless eye, till men were full Of strange forebodings for thy lustre dimmid,

And many a chant in many a fane was hymn'd
Unto the pale-eyed sun; the Satyrs stay'd
Long time in the dull woods, then on the glade
They came and look’d for thee; and all in vain
Poor Dian'sought thy love, and did complain
For want of light and life;—By all thy grief,
Oh bright Apollo ! hear, and give relief

To us who cry to thee-
Oh come, and let us now thy glory see!

No. III.-To Venus.
Oh Thou, most lovely and most beautiful!
Whether thy doves now lovingly do lull
Thy bright eyes to soft slumbering upon
Some dreamy south wind: whether thou hast gone
Upon the heaven now-or if thou art
Within some floating cloud, and on its heart
Pourest rich-tinted joy: whether thy wheels
Are touching on the sun-forsaken fields,
And brushing off the dew from bending grass,
Leaving the poor green blades to look, alas !
With dim eyes at the moon (ah! so dost thou
Full oft quench brightness !)— Venus ! whether now
Thou passest o'er the sea, while each light wing
Of thy fair doves is wet-while sea-maids bring
Sweet odours for thee (ah ! how foolish they!

They have not felt thy smart!)
They know not, while in Ocean caves they play,

How strong thou art.

Where'er thou art, oh Venus ! hear our song,
Kind goddess, hear! for unto thee belong
All pleasant offerings ; bright doves coo to thee
The while they twine their necks with quiet glee
Among the morning leaves ; thine are all sounds
Of pleasure on the earth ; and where abounds
Most happiness, for thee we ever look ;
Among the leaves, in dimly-lighted nook,
Most often hidest thou, where winds may wave
Thy sunny curls, and cool airs fondly lave
Thy beaming brow, and ruffle the white wings
Of thy tired doves; and where his love-song sings,
With lightsome eyes, some little, strange, sweet bird,
With notes that never but by thee are heard-
Oh, in such scene, most bright, thou liest now,

And with half-open eye
Drinkest in beauty-oh, most fair, that thou

Wouldst hear our cry!

Oh thou, through whom all things upon the earth
Grow brighter: thou for whom even laughing mirth
Lengthens bis note: thou whom the joyous bird
Singeth continuously : whose name is heard
In every pleasant sound: at whose warm glance
All things look brighter : for whom wine doth dance
More merrily within the brimming vase,
To meet thy lip: thou at whose quiet pace
Joy leaps on faster, with a louder laugh,
And Sorrow tosses to the sea his staff,
And pushes back the hair from his dim eyes,
To look again upon forgotten skies;

While Avarice forgets to count his gold, 'Yea, unto thee his

wither'd hand doth hold Fill'd with that heart-blood : thou, to whose high might

All things are made to bow,
Come thou to us, and turn thy looks of light

Upon us now!
Oh hear, great Goddess ! thou whom all obey;
At whose desire rough Satyrs leave their play,
And gather wild-flowers, decking the bright hair
Of her they love, and oft blackberries bear,
To shame them at her eyes : Oh thou! to whom
They leap in awkward mood, within the gloom
Of darkening oak-trees, or at lightsome noon
Sing unto thee, upon their pipes, a tune
Of wondrous languishment: thou whose great power
Brings up the sea-maids from each ocean-bower,
With many an idle song, to sing to thee,
And bright locks flowing half above the sea,
And gleaming eyes, as if in distant caves
They spied their lovers (so among the waves
Small bubbles flit, mocking the kindly sun,

With little, laughing brightness)Oh come, and ere our festival is done,

Our new loves bless!

Oh thou, who once didst weep, and with sad tears
Bedew the pitying woods !-by those great fears
That haunted thee when thy Beloved lay
With dark eyes drown'd in death-by that dull day,
When poor Adonis fell with many a moan
Among the leaves, and sadly and alone
Breathed out his spirit-oh! do thou look on
All maidens who, for too great love, grow wan,
And pity them: Come to us when night brings
Her first faint stars, and let us hear the wings
Of thy most beauteous and bright-eyed doves
Stirring the breathless air: let all thy loves
Be flying round thy car, with pleasant songs
Moving upon their lips : Come! each maid longs
For thy fair presence-Goddess of rich love!

Come on the odorous air ;
And, as thy light wheels roll, from us remove

All love-sick care!
Lo, we have many kinds of incense here
To offer thee, and sunny wine and clear,
Fit for young Bacchus: Flowers we have here too,
That we have gather'd when the morning dew
Was moist

upon them ; myrtle wreaths we bear,
To place upon thy bright, luxuriant hair,
And shade thy temples too ; 'tis now the time
Of all fair beauty : thou who lov'st the clime
Of our dear Cyprus, where sweet flowers blow
With honey in their cups, and with a glow
Like thine own cheek, raising their modest heads
To be refresh'd with the transparent beads
Of silver dew, behold, this April night
Our altars burn for thee: lo! on the light
We pour out incense from each golden vase ;

- Oh Goddess, hear our words !
And hither turn, with thine own matchless grace,

Thy white-wing'd birds.


Most graceful Goddess !-whether now thou art
Hunting the dun deer in the silent heart
Of some old quiet wood, or on the side
Of some high mountain, and, most eager-eyed,
Dashing upon the chase, with bended bow
And arrow at the string, and with a glow
Of wondrous beauty on thy cheek, and feet
Like thine own silver moon-yea, and as fleet
As her best beams-and quiver at the back
Rattling to all their steppings ; if some track
In distant Thessaly thou followest up,
Brushing the dew from many a flower-cup
And quiet leaf, and listening to the bay
Of thy good hounds, while in the deep woods they,
Strong-limb'd and swift, leap on with eager bounds,
And with their long deep note each hill resounds,
Making thee music :

-Goddess, hear our cry,
And let us worship thee, while far and high
Goes up thy Brother-while his light is full
Upon the earth ; for, when the night winds lull

The world to sleep, then to the lightless sky Dian must go, with silver robes of dew

And sunward eye.

Perhaps thou liest on some shady spot
Among the trees, while frighten'd beasts hear not
The deep bay of thy hounds; but, dropping down
Upon green grass, and leaves all sere and brown,
Thou pillowest thy delicate head upon
Some ancient mossy root, where wood-winds run
Wildly about thee, and thy fair nymphs point
Thy death-wing'd arrows, or thy hair anoint
With Lydian odours, and thy strong hounds lie
Lazily on the earth, and watch thine eye,
And watch thine arrows, while thou hast a dream,
Perchance, in some deep-bosom'd shaded stream,
Thou bathest now, where even thy brother Sun
Cannot look on thee_where dark shades and dun
Fall on the water, making it most cool,
Like winds from the broad sea, or like some pool
In deep dark cavern: Hanging branches dip
Their locks into the stream, or slowly drip
With tear-drops of rich dew: Before no eyes
But those of fitting wind-gods, each nymph bies

Into the deep, cool, running stream, and there Thou pillowest thyself upon its breast,

Oh Queen, most fair! By all thine hours of pleasure—when thou wast Upon tall Latmos, moveless, still, and lost In boundless pleasure, ever gazing on Thy bright-eyed Youth, whether the unseen sun Was lighting the deep sea, or at mid-noon Careering through the sky-by every tune And voice of joy that thrill'd about the chords Of thy deep heart when thou didst hear his words In that cool shady grot, where thou hadst brought And placed Endymion ; where fair hands had taught All beauty to shine forth ; where thy fair maids Had brought up shells for thee, and from the glades All sunny flowers, with precious stones and gems

Of utmost beauty, pearly diadems
Of many sea-gods; birds were there that sang
Ever most sweetly; living waters rang
Their changes to all time, to soothe the soul
Of thy Endymion; pleasant breezes stole
With light feet through the cave, that they might kiss
His dewy lips ;-Oh, by those hours of bliss

That thou didst then enjoy, come to us, fair
And beautiful Diana-take us now

Under thy care!

Oh, winged Messenger! if thy light feet
Are in the star-paved halls where high gods meet,
Where the rich nectar thou dost take and sip
At idly-pleasant leisure, while thy lip
Utters rich eloquence, until thy foe,
Juno herself, doth her long hate forego,
And hangs upon thine accents; Venus smiles,
And aims her looks at thee with winning wiles ;
And wise Minerva's cup stands idle by
The while thou speakest. Whether up on high
Thou wing'st thy way-

or dost but now unfurl
Thy pinions like the eagle, while a whirl
Of air takes place about thee-if thy wings
Are over the broad sea, where Afric flings
His hot breath on the waters; by the shore
Of Araby the blest, or in the roar
Of crashing northern ice-Oh turn, and urge
Thy winged course to us! Leave the rough surge,
Or icy mountain height, or city proud,
Or haughty temple, or dim wood down-bow'd

With weaken'd age,

And come to us, thou young and mighty sage! Thou who invisibly dost ever stand Near each high orator; and, hand in hand With the gold-robed Apollo, touch the tongue Of every poet; on whom men have hung With strange enchantment, when in dark disguise Thou hast descended from cloud-curtain'd skies, And lifted up thy voice, to teach bold men Thy world-arousing art: oh thou ! that when The ocean was untrack'd, didst teach them send Great ships upon it: thou who dost extend In storm a calm protection to the hopes Of the fair merchant : thou who on the slopes Of Mount Cyllene first madest sound the lyre And many-toned harp with childish fire, And thine own beauty sounding in the caves A strange new tune, unlike the ruder staves That Pan had utter'd--while each wondering nymph Came out from tree and mountain, and pure lymph Of mountain stream, to drink each rolling note That o'er the listening woods did run and float

With fine clear tone,

Like silver trumpets o'er still waters blown :
Oh, matchless Artist! thou of wondrous skill,
Who didst in ages past the wide earth fill
With every usefulness : thou who dost teach
Quick-witted thieves the miser's gold to reach,

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