LXIII. SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN. HEPHERDS all, and maidens fair, S' Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day, Bear a lamb or kid away; Let one eye his watches keep So you shall good shepherds prove, Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, LXIV. SONG TO PAN. ALL ye woods, and trees, and bowers, Α All ye virtues and ye powers That inhabit in the lakes, In the pleasant springs or brakes, Move your feet To our sound, All this ground, With his honour and his name That defends our flocks from blame. AWAY, delights, go seek some other dwelling, For I must die; Farewell, false Love; thy tongue is ever telling For ever let me rest now from thy smarts; And fire their hearts That have been hard to thee; mine was not so. Never again deluding Love shall know me, And all those griefs that think to over-grow me, For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry, 'Alas! for pity stay, And let us die With thee; men cannot mock us in the clay.' LXVI. G SONG. OD Lyæus, ever young, Ever honoured, ever sung; God of youth, let this day here LXVII. THE PASSIONATE LORD'S SONG. HENCE, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! Oh! sweetest melancholy. Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, A look that's fastened to the ground, Fountain heads, and pathless groves, These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. H |