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And perfect witness of all-judging Jove :
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.'

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honourd flood,
Smooth-sliding Mincius,3 crown'd with vocal reeds !
That strain I heard was of a higher mood :
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea ;
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ?
And questiou'd every gust of rugged winds
That blows from off each beaked promontory:
They knew not of his story;
And sage Hippotades 4 their answer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope 5 with all her sisters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

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 6 of the Galilean lake: Two massy keys he bore of metals twain ; (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) He shook'd his mitred locks, and stern bespake :

How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold !

Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest; [hold
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to
A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! [sped;
What recks it them? What need they? They are
And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw :
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread :
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said:
But that two-handed engine at the door
Stauds ready to smite once, and smite no more.'

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is pass'd That shrunk thy streams; return, Siciliau Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast

Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. „Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks ; Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes, That on the green turf suck the honied showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffodillies fill their cups with tears,
To strow the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For, so to interpose a little ease,
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurid,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,
Where thou, perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world :
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus 7 old,
Where the great vision of the guarded mounts
Looks toward Namancos 9 and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth :
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.
· Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor :
So siuks the day-star in the ocean-bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, (waves,
Through the dear might of Him 10 that walk'd the
Where other groves and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the bless'd kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,

In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropp'd into the western bay;
At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue :
T'o-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

NOTES ON LYCIDAS.

1 The isles of Anglesey and of Man have both shared this title.

i The river Dee, the ancient boundary between England and Wales.

3 A river of Venetia, on whose banks Virgil was born. 4 Eolus, the son of Hippotas.

5 One of the Nereides, who was commonly invoked by mariners in storms. 6 Saint Peter.

7 A Cornish giant. 8 Mount St. Michael, not far from the Land's End in Cornwall, whence at low water it is accessible, “The guarded mount,” says Mr. Warton, « is simply the fortified mount; and the great vision is the famous apparition of St. Michael, who is said to have appeared on the top of the mount, and to have directed a church to be built there."

9 Or Numantia, a town of Old Castile, once highly celebrated in the Spanish history.--Todd.

10 A description of our Saviour.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

It was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born child

All meanly wrapp'd in the rude manger lies;
Nature; in awe to him,
Had doff'd her gaudy trim,

With her great master so to sympathize:
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.

Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow;
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,

The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ;
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.

But he, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace;

She, crown'd with olive-green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
His ready harbinger,
· With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing;
And, waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes an universal peace through sea and land.

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