Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
John Milton. 16081674310. L’Allegro
HENCE loathèd Melancholy | |
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born, | |
In Stygian Cave forlorn | |
‘Mongst horrid shapes, and shreiks, and sights unholy. | |
Find out som uncouth cell, | 5 |
Where brooding darknes spreads his jealous wings, | |
And the night-Raven sings; | |
There, under Ebon shades, and low-brow’d Rocks, | |
As ragged as thy Locks, | |
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. | 10 |
But com thou Goddes fair and free, | |
In Heav’n ycleap’d Euphrosyne, | |
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, | |
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth | |
With two sister Graces more | 15 |
To Ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore; | |
Or whether (as som Sager sing) | |
The frolick Wind that breathes the Spring, | |
Zephir with Aurora playing, | |
As he met her once a Maying, | 20 |
There on Beds of Violets blew, | |
And fresh-blown Roses washt in dew, | |
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair, | |
So bucksom, blith, and debonair. | |
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee | 25 |
Jest and youthful Jollity, | |
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, | |
Nods, and Becks, and Wreathèd Smiles, | |
Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek, | |
And love to live in dimple sleek; | 30 |
Sport that wrincled Care derides, | |
And Laughter holding both his sides. | |
Com, and trip it as ye go | |
On the light fantastick toe, | |
And in thy right hand lead with thee, | 35 |
The Mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty; | |
And if I give thee honour due, | |
Mirth, admit me of thy crue | |
To live with her, and live with thee, | |
In unreprovèd pleasures free; | 40 |
To hear the Lark begin his flight, | |
And singing startle the dull night, | |
From his watch-towre in the skies, | |
Till the dappled dawn doth rise; | |
Then to com in spight of sorrow, | 45 |
And at my window bid good morrow, | |
Through the Sweet-Briar, or the Vine, | |
Or the twisted Eglantine. | |
While the Cock with lively din, | |
Scatters the rear of darknes thin, | 50 |
And to the stack, or the Barn dore, | |
Stoutly struts his Dames before, | |
Oft list’ning how the Hounds and horn | |
Chearly rouse the slumbring morn, | |
From the side of som Hoar Hill, | 55 |
Through the high wood echoing shrill. | |
Som time walking not unseen | |
By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green, | |
Right against the Eastern gate, | |
Wher the great Sun begins his state, | 60 |
Rob’d in flames, and Amber light, | |
The clouds in thousand Liveries dight. | |
While the Plowman neer at hand, | |
Whistles ore the Furrow’d Land, | |
And the Milkmaid singeth blithe, | 65 |
And the Mower whets his sithe, | |
And every Shepherd tells his tale | |
Under the Hawthorn in the dale. | |
Streit mine eye hath caught new pleasures | |
Whilst the Lantskip round it measures, | 70 |
Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray, | |
Where the nibling flocks do stray, | |
Mountains on whose barren brest | |
The labouring clouds do often rest: | |
Meadows trim with Daisies pide, | 75 |
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide. | |
Towers, and Battlements it sees | |
Boosom’d high in tufted Trees, | |
Wher perhaps som beauty lies, | |
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. | 80 |
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes, | |
From betwixt two agèd Okes, | |
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, | |
Are at their savory dinner set | |
Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes, | 85 |
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; | |
And then in haste her Bowre she leaves, | |
With Thestylis to bind the Sheaves; | |
Or if the earlier season lead | |
To the tann’d Haycock in the Mead, | 90 |
Som times with secure delight | |
The up-land Hamlets will invite, | |
When the merry Bells ring round, | |
And the jocond rebecks sound | |
To many a youth, and many a maid, | 95 |
Dancing in the Chequer’d shade; | |
And young and old com forth to play | |
On a Sunshine Holyday, | |
Till the live-long day-light fail, | |
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale, | 100 |
With stories told of many a feat, | |
How Faery Mab the junkets eat, | |
She was pincht, and pull’d the sed, | |
And he by Friars Lanthorn led | |
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet, | 105 |
To ern his Cream-bowle duly set, | |
When in one night, ere glimps of morn, | |
His shadowy Flale hath thresh’d the Corn | |
That ten day-labourers could not end, | |
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend, | 110 |
And stretch’d out all the Chimney’s length, | |
Basks at the fire his hairy strength; | |
And Crop-full out of dores he flings, | |
Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings. | |
Thus don the Tales, to bed they creep, | 115 |
By whispering Windes soon lull’d asleep. | |
Towred Cities please us then, | |
And the busie humm of men, | |
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold, | |
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold, | 120 |
With store of Ladies, whose bright eies | |
Rain influence, and judge the prise | |
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend | |
To win her Grace, whom all commend. | |
There let Hymen oft appear | 125 |
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear, | |
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, | |
With mask, and antique Pageantry, | |
Such sights as youthfull Poets dream | |
On Summer eeves by haunted stream. | 130 |
Then to the well-trod stage anon, | |
If Jonsons learnèd Sock be on, | |
Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe, | |
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde, | |
And ever against eating Cares, | 135 |
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires, | |
Married to immortal verse | |
Such as the meeting soul may pierce | |
In notes, with many a winding bout | |
Of linckèd sweetnes long drawn out, | 140 |
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, | |
The melting voice through mazes running; | |
Untwisting all the chains that ty | |
The hidden soul of harmony. | |
That Orpheus self may heave his head | 145 |
From golden slumber on a bed | |
Of heapt Elysian flowres, and hear | |
Such streins as would have won the ear | |
Of Pluto, to have quite set free | |
His half regain’d Eurydice. | 150 |
These delights, if thou canst give, | |
Mirth with thee, I mean to live. |