Moonlight, a Poem: with Several Copies of Verses/Virgil's Ghost
VIRGIL'S GHOST.
I walk in woods from Morning until Eve,
From Eve to dewy Night: and pitch my Camp
In the sepulchral forests, where the bird,
That fled from Tereus, weeps the livelong day:
And all the starry Night she weeps, and sings
Before the gate of Proserpine; a cave,
That leads from Dis into this upper World:
There dwell I, wheresoe'er that dwelling be,
Apart from kings; and with discursive ghosts,
Upon the edge of Morning, sweetly talk.
Now pale Bootes on the cavern shone;
And I, forsaking great Malvezzi's page,
Call'd with sweet voice unto that ghostly herd,
Which they are wont t' obey, for Maro's soul,
T' uprise, and visit the o'er-wakeful Moon.
I call'd; and Maro at the Summons came:
"What would'st thou, Son, with me?" I straight reply'd,
"O Poet, above all divinely wise,
"To whom the Sun and Moon were strictly known,
"The sprinkled Stars, and Seasons, that o'er-sway
"This fickle Globe, the Earth, and what it bears,
"Of Fruit, of Creatures, of immortal Man,
"With all, that in the lower realms of Dis,
"Far underneath the glimpses of the Moon,
"Have wakeful being; tell me now, I pray,
"What, in this wand'ring errour of the World,
"Best medicine for Sorrow, may be found
"To lull th' oblivious evil into Peace?"
I said; and Maro, with sad tears, reply'd;
While, overhead, the wakeful thunder roll'd,
As when it passes o'er Oblivion's shore:
"Great is the task, O Son, and various minds
"With various solace lull the poignant woe:
"Some in wild passion steep the troubled breast,
"And some with sweet Nepenthe lull the mind,
"And some with herbs of mere forgetfulness:
"Their potency is much; and men may stay
"The orbit of the Moon with herb and song;
"And so the sov'reign reason may assuage:
"But open wide the porches of thine ear;
"Believe it, with the sanction of my soul,
"That, worn with study, sought Proserpine's shore;
"A Pot of Porter, O my Gracious Son,
"Shall best resolve thy question, if 'tis drawn
"From a sweet tap, where the resort is much."
He said; and vanish'd, like the dews of Night.
From Eve to dewy Night: and pitch my Camp
In the sepulchral forests, where the bird,
That fled from Tereus, weeps the livelong day:
And all the starry Night she weeps, and sings
Before the gate of Proserpine; a cave,
That leads from Dis into this upper World:
There dwell I, wheresoe'er that dwelling be,
Apart from kings; and with discursive ghosts,
Upon the edge of Morning, sweetly talk.
Now pale Bootes on the cavern shone;
And I, forsaking great Malvezzi's page,
Call'd with sweet voice unto that ghostly herd,
Which they are wont t' obey, for Maro's soul,
T' uprise, and visit the o'er-wakeful Moon.
I call'd; and Maro at the Summons came:
"What would'st thou, Son, with me?" I straight reply'd,
"O Poet, above all divinely wise,
"To whom the Sun and Moon were strictly known,
"The sprinkled Stars, and Seasons, that o'er-sway
"This fickle Globe, the Earth, and what it bears,
"Of Fruit, of Creatures, of immortal Man,
"With all, that in the lower realms of Dis,
"Far underneath the glimpses of the Moon,
"Have wakeful being; tell me now, I pray,
"What, in this wand'ring errour of the World,
"Best medicine for Sorrow, may be found
"To lull th' oblivious evil into Peace?"
I said; and Maro, with sad tears, reply'd;
While, overhead, the wakeful thunder roll'd,
As when it passes o'er Oblivion's shore:
"Great is the task, O Son, and various minds
"With various solace lull the poignant woe:
"Some in wild passion steep the troubled breast,
"And some with sweet Nepenthe lull the mind,
"And some with herbs of mere forgetfulness:
"Their potency is much; and men may stay
"The orbit of the Moon with herb and song;
"And so the sov'reign reason may assuage:
"But open wide the porches of thine ear;
"Believe it, with the sanction of my soul,
"That, worn with study, sought Proserpine's shore;
"A Pot of Porter, O my Gracious Son,
"Shall best resolve thy question, if 'tis drawn
"From a sweet tap, where the resort is much."
He said; and vanish'd, like the dews of Night.