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��POEMS WRITTEN AT HORTON
��Than how to scramble at the shearers'
feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know
how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the
least 120
That to the faithful Herdman's art be- longs ! 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 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 130 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no
more."
Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian
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 enamelled
eyes, That on the green turf suck the honeyed
showers, 140
And purple all the ground with vernal
flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken
dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale gessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked
with jet,
The glowing violet,
The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood- bine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive
head,
��And every flower that sad embroidery
wears;
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies till their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 151
For so, to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false sur- mise.
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sound- ing seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are
hurled ;
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 de- nied,
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 Where the great Vision of the guarded
mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's
hold. Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt
with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless
youth. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep
no more,
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-span- gled 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,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and
love.
There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 179 That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his
eyes. Now, Lycidas, the Shepherds weep no
�� �
