35

45

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel
From the glad sound would not be absent long,
And old Damætus lov'd to hear our song,

But, О the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone, and never must return!
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 40
And all their echoes mourn.
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, ,
Or frost to flow'rs, that their gay wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless

deep
Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd 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 wisard stream:
Ay me! I fondly dream!

50

55

37 thou art gone] Browne's Sheph. Pipe (ecl. 4). "But he is gone.' 50 Where] Spenser's Astrophel, st. 22, Ah, where were ye the while his shepheard peares, &c.

Warton. 55 wisard] On the wisard stream of Deva, consult Warton's note.

35

VOL. II.

60

65

Had ye been there, for what could that have done?
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore,
The Muse herself for her inchanting son,
Whom universal nature did lament,
When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary visage down the stream was sent,
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ?

Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ?
Were it not better done as others use,
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;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into sudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred shears,

75

63 swift] Vir. Æn. 1. 321.

Volucremque fuga prævertitur Hebrum.' Warton. 69 tangles] Benlowes's Theophila, p. 2.

80

And slits the thin-spun life. But not the praise,
Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears ;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glist’ring foil
Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumour lies;
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes,
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame in heav'n expect thy meed.

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, 85
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds!
That strain I heard was of a higher mood :
But now my oat proceeds,
And listens to the herald of the sea
That came in Neptune's plea;
He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds,
What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain ?
And question’d every gust of rugged wings
That blows from off each beaked promontory :
They knew not of his story,
And sage Hippotades their answer brings,

90

95 100

105

That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd;
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her sisters play’d.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in th’ eclipse, and rigg’d with curses dark,
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow,
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge,
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge
Like to that sanguine flow'r inscrib’d with woe.
Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge ?
Last came, and last did

go, The pilot of the Galilean lake; 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 spar’d for thee, young swain, Enow of such as for their bellies' sake

110 115

121

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold?
Of other care they little reckoning make,
Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast,
And shove away the worthy bidden guest; [hold
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to
A sheep-hook, or have learn’d aught else the least
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs !
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
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.

125

130

6

115 climb] Crept into the fold.' Prose Works, ii. 381, ed. Symmons.

121 herdman's] Milton writes it herdsman,' in his MS. "Herdman,' is used in our transl. of the Bible, Amos i. 1. Todd. 124 Grate] Virg. Ecl. iii. 26.

solebus Stridenti miserum stipulâ dispendere carmen.' Newton. 125 sheep] See Past. Ægl. by L. B. ver. 130, on Sir P. Sidney's death.

• Unhappie flock! that wander scattred now,
What marvell if through grief ye woxen leane,
Forsake your food, and hang your heads adowne !
For such a shepheard never shall you guide,

Whose parting hath of weale bereft you cleane.' 130 two-handed] ‘Yet, maie the ax stande next the dore.' Sir T. Smith's Psalms. Restituta. iv. 189.