And young and old come forth to play Till the livelong daylight fail; Tells how the drudging goblin sweat, Where throngs of knights and barons bold Such as the meeting soul may pierce Of linked sweetness long drawn out, That Orpheus' self may heave his head Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear XIV. IL PENSEROSO. HENCE, vain deluding joys, The brood of folly without father bred! How little you bested, Or fill the fixéd mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy, Whose saintly visage is too bright Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended: |