Page:MU KPB 018 Comus by John Miltow - Illustrated by Arthur Rackham.pdf/66

To the misled and lonely Travailer?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence eev’n now the tumult of loud Mirth
Was rife, and perfet in my list’ning ear;
Yet nought but single darknes do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory
Of calling shapes, and beckning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable mens names
On Sands, and Shoars, and desert Wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The vertuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, Conscience.
O, welcom, pure-ey’d Faith, white-handed Hope,
Thou hovering Angel girt with golden wings,
And thou unblemish’t form of Chastity!
I see ye visibly, and now beleeve
That he, the Supreme good, t’ whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glistring Guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honour unassail’d.
—Was I deceiv’d, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err, there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,