Hence loathed Melancholy
Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy;
Find out some uncouth cell
Where brooding Darkness 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
But come thou goddess fair and free
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne
And by men, heart-easing Mirth
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Gracеs more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whеther (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring
Zephyr, with Aurora playing
As he met her once a-Maying
There on beds of violets blue
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair
So buxom, blithe, and debonair
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides
And Laughter holding both his sides
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight
And singing startle the dull night
From his watch-tower in the skies
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow
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 darkness thin
And to the stack, or the barn door
Stoutly struts his dames before;
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn
From the side of some hoar hill
Through the high wood echoing shrill
Sometime walking, not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green
Right against the eastern gate
Where the great Sun begins his state
Rob'd in flames, and amber light
The clouds in thousand liveries dight
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land
And the milkmaid singeth blithe
And the mower whets his scythe
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the landskip round it measures
Russet lawns, and fallows gray
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide
Towers, and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees
Where perhaps some beauty lies
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her bow'r she leaves
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd haycock in the mead
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite
When the merry bells ring round
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday
Till the live-long daylight fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale
With stories told of many a feat
How Faery Mab the junkets eat
She was pinch'd and pull'd she said
And he by friar's lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And crop-full out of doors he flings
Ere the first cock his matin rings
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep
Tower'd cities please us then
And the busy hum of men
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear
And pomp, and feast, and revelry
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream
Then to the well-trod stage anon
If Jonson's learned sock be on
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child
Warble his native wood-notes wild
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning
The melting voice through mazes running
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elysian flow'rs, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regain'd Eurydice
These delights if thou canst give
Mirth, with thee I mean to live