On whose fresh lap the fwart Star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enameld eyes,
That on the green terf fuck the honied showres,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowres.
Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies.
The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Geffamine,
The white Pink, and the Panfie freakt with jeat,
The glowing Violet.

The Musk-rofe, and the well attir'd Woodbine,
With Cowflips wan that hang the penfive hed,
And every flower that fad embroidery wears:
Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And Daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrew the Laureat Herfe where Lycid lies.
For fo to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with false furmife.

Ay me! Whilft thee the shores, and founding Seas
Wash far away, where ere thy bones are hurld,
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides,

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,

Where the great vifion of the guarded Mount

Looks

Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth.
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the haples youth.

Weep no more, woful Shepherds weep no more,
For Lycidas your forrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar,

So finks the day-star in the Ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled Ore,
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:

So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves

Where other groves, and other streams along,

With Nectar pure

his oozy

Lock's he laves,

And hears the unexpreffive nuptiall Song,
In the bleft Kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops, and sweet Societies
That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now Lycidas the Shepherds weep no more;
Hence forth thou art the Genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus

Thus fang the uncouth Swain to th'Okes and rills;
While the still morn went out with Sandals gray,
He touch'd the tender stops of various Quills,
With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay :
And now the Sun had ftretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the Western bay;

At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew :
To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.

辛

E