I should love and keep her too,
Spite of all the world could do.
For though banish'd from my flocks,
And confin'd within these rocks,
Here I waste away the light,

And consume the sullen night.
She doth for my comfort stay

And keeps many cares away.
Though I miss the flowery fields,
With those sweets the spring-tide yields,
Though I may not see those groves
Where the shepherds chant their loves,
And the lasses more excel

Than the sweet-voic'd Philomel;

Though of all those pleasures past

Nothing now remains at last,

But remembrance, poor relief,

That more makes than mends my grief;

She's my mind's companion still,
Maugre Envy's evil will.

Whence she should be driven too,
Were't in mortals' power to do.

She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow,
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
To be pleasing ornaments.

In my former days of bliss

Her divine skill taught me this,
That from every thing I saw
I could some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height
Through the meanest object's sight.
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rusteling;
By a daisy whose leaves spread.
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree

She could more infuse in me,

Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.

By her help I also now

Make this churlish place allow

Some things that may sweeten gladness In the very gall of sadness.

The dull loneness, the black shade

That these hanging vaults have made,

The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;

This black den, which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss ;
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,
Wall'd about with disrespect;

From all these, and this dull air
A fit object for despair,

She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this,-
POESY!-thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent.
Though they as a trifle leave thee,

Whose dull thoughts can not conceive thee;

Though thou be to them a scorn

That to nought but earth are born ;

Let my life no longer be

Than I am in love with thee.

Though our wise ones call thee madness,

Let me never taste of gladness

If I love not thy maddest fits

More than all their greatest wits.

And though some too seeming holy
Do account thy raptures folly,

Thou dost teach me to contemn

What makes knaves and fools of them.
Oh, high power! that oft doth carry
Men above-

The following Rhomboidal Dirge is inserted on account of its

singularity.

Ah me!

Am I the swain,

That late, from sorrow free,

Did all the cares on earth disdain?

And still untouch'd, as at some safer games,

Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames? Was't I, could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will, And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise by help of reason still? And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain, So sunk, that I shall never rise again?

Then, let despair set sorrow's string

For strains that dolefull'st be,
And I will sing

Ah me!

But why,

O fatal time,

Dost thou constrain, that I

Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?
I, but a while ago, you cruel powers,

In spite of fortune cropt contentment's sweetest flowers!
And yet unscorned serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she
That ever
was belov'd of man, or eyes did ever see.
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress:
Yet I, poor I, must perish ne'ertheless ;
And, which much more augments my care,
Unmoaned I must die,

And no man e'er

Know why!

Thy leave,

My dying song,

Yet take, ere grief bereave

The breath which I enjoy too long!

Tell thou that fair one this: my soul prefers

Her love above my life; and that I died hers. And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear Who lov'd the very thought of her, whilst he remained here. And now farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth, Where once I breath'd the sweetest air on earth.

Since me my wonted joys forsake,

And all my trust deceive,

Of all I take

My leave.

Farewell,

Sweet groves, to you!

You hills that highest dwell,

And all you humble vales adieu!

You wanton brooks, and solitary rocks;

My dear companions all, and you my tender flocks!

Farewell,my pipe! and all those pleasing songs whose moving strains Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains. You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart

Have without pity broke the truest heart,

Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy,

That erst did with me dwell,

And others joy,

Farewell!