ARCADES
��39
��Whom with low reverence I adore as
mine,
And with all helpful service will comply To further this night's glad solemnity, And lead ye where ye may more near be- hold 40 What shallow-searching Fame hath left
untold ;
Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone, Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon. For know, by lot from Jove, I am the
Power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the
grove With ringlets quaint and wanton windings
wove ;
And all my plants I save from nightly ill Of noisome winds and blasting vapours
chill; And from the boughs brush off the evil
dew, 50
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder
blue, Or what the cross dire - looking planet
smites, Or hurtful worm with cankered venom
bites. When Evening grey doth rise, I fetch my
round Over the mount, and all this hallowed
ground;
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasselled
horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about, Number my ranks, and visit every sprout With puissant words and murmurs made to
bless. 60
But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I To the celestial Sirens' harmony, That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres, And sing to those that hold the vital shears, And turn the adamantine spindle round On which the fate of gods and men is
wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, To lull the daughters of Necessity,
��And keep unsteady Nature to her law, 70 And the low world in measured motion
draw After the heavenly tune, which none can
hear
Of human mould with gross unpurged ear. And yet such music worthiest were to blaze The peerless height of her immortal praise Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit, If my inferior hand or voice could hit Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go, Whate'er the skill of lesser gods can show I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 80
And so attend ye toward her glittering
state ;
Where ye may all, that are of noble stem, Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture's
hem.
II. SONG
O'er the smooth enamelled green,
Where no print of step hath been, Follow me, as I sing And touch the warbled string:
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof
Follow me. 90
I will bring you where she sits,
Clad in splendour as befits Her deity.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.
III. SONG
Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more .
By sandy Ladou's lilied banks; On old Lycseus, or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks; Though Erymanth your loss deplore, ico
A better soil shall give ye thanks. From the stony Ma-nalus Bring your flocks, and live with us; Here ye shall have greater grace, To serve the Lady of this place. Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were, Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.
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