Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order ranged Of tame villatic fowl, but as an eagle His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads. Depressed and overthrown, as seemed, Like that self-begotten bird In the Arabian woods embost, That no second knows nor third, And lay erewhile a holocaust, From out her ashy womb now teemed, Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most And, though her body die, her fame survives, A secular bird, ages of lives. Man. Come, come; no time for lamentation now, Nor much more cause. Samson hath quit himself Fully revenged-hath left them years of mourning, Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, Soaked in his enemies' blood, and from the stream 1700 1710 1720 Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, Home to his father's house. There will I build him With silent obsequy and funeral train, A monument, and plant it round with shade Of laurel evergreen and branching palm, Of Highest Wisdom brings about, 1730 1740 But unexpectedly returns, 1750 And to His faithful champion hath in place Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns And all that band them to resist His uncontrollable intent. His servants He, with new acquist Of true experience from this great event, LYCIDAS. In this Monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637; and by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their height. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well With lucky words favour my destined urn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud! For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 10 20 Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose at evening bright Toward Heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; Tempered to the oaten flute Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven heel But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, 30 40 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep 50 Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. "Had ye been there," for what could that have done? When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, Alas! what boots it with incessant care 60 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) 70 To scorn delights and live laborious days; Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed." But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea, That came in Neptune's plea. 80 90 He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? And questioned every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory. They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, |