Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; Tempered to the oaten flute Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 35 But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 40 The willows, and the hazel copses green, Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 45 Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, 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 on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 55 66 Had ye been there," . . . for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, 60 When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, His gory visage down the stream was sent, 65 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; 75 Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." And listens to the Herald of the Sea, 80 85 That came in Neptune's plea. 90 He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? That blows from off each beakéd promontory. They knew not of his story ; 95 And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed: Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 100 Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean Lake; 105 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : "How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake, Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! ΠΙΟ 115 Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold 120 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, 125 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. 130 135 Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, 140 The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, 145 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 155 160 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 165 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 spangled 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, 175 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 180 185 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals grey: 190 ON SHAKESPEARE. 1630. WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 5 What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Hast built thyself a livelong monument. For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart ΙΟ 15 |