Penseroso
The brood of Folly without father bred！
How little you bestead
Or fill the fixèd 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
To hit the sense of human sight
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with #CCCCFF staid Wisdom's hue；
#CCCCFF but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem
Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The sea-nymphs and their powers offended：
Yet thou art higher far descended：
Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore；
His daughter she； in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain：
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come pensive Nun devout and pure
Sober steadfast and demure
All in a robe of darkest grain
Flowing with majestic train
And sable stole of cypres lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn：
Come but keep thy wonted state
With even step and musing gait
And looks commércing with the skies
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes：
There held in holy passion still
Forget thyself to marble till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast：
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet
Spare Fast that oft with gods doth diet
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing：
And add to these retirèd Leisure
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure：—
But first and chiefest with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne
The cherub Contemplatiòn；
And the mute Silence hist along
'Less Philomel will deign a song
In her sweetest saddest plight
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er the accustom'd oak.
—Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly
Most musical most melancholy！
Thee chauntress oft the woods among
I woo to hear thy even-song；
And missing thee I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green
To behold the wandering Moon
Riding near her highest noon
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven's wide pathless way
And oft as if her head she bow'd
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rising ground
I hear the far-off curfeu sound
Over some wide-water'd shore
Swinging slow with sullen roar：
Or if the air will not permit
Some still removèd place will fit
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom；
Far from all resort of mirth
Save the cricket on the hearth
Or the bellman's drowsy charm
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear
With thrice-great Hermes or unsphere
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook：
And of those demons that are found
In fire air flood or underground
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptr'd pall come sweeping by
Presenting Thebes or Pelops' line
Or the tale of Troy divine；
Or what （though rare） of later age
Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
But O sad Virgin that thy power
Might raise Mus？us from his bower
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek
And made Hell grant what Love did seek！
Or call up him that left half-told
The story of Cambuscan bold
Of Camball and of Algarsife
And who had Canacé to wife
That own'd the virtuous ring and glass；
And of the wondrous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride：
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung
Of turneys and of trophies hung
Of forests and enchantments drear
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus Night oft see me in thy pale career
Till civil-suited Morn appear
Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont
With the Attic Boy to hunt
But kercheft in a comely cloud
While rocking winds are piping loud.
Or usher'd with a shower still
When the gust hath blown his fill
Ending on the rustling leaves
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams me goddess bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine or monumental oak
Where the rude axe with heavèd stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by some brook
Where no profaner eye may look
Hide me from day's garish eye
While the bee with honey'd thigh
That at her flowery work doth sing
And the waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep
Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep；
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture display'd
Softly on my eyelids laid：
And as I wake sweet music breathe
Above about or underneath
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good
Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale
And love the high-embowèd roof
With antique pillars massy proof
And storied windows richly dight
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced quire below
In service high and anthems clear
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstasies
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage
The hairy gown and mossy cell
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew
And every herb that sips the dew；
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give
And I with thee will choose to live.