Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air,

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot

Which men call Earth, and with low-thoughted care

Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,

Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,

Unmindful of the crown that virtue gives,

After this mortal change, to her true servants,

Amongst the enthroned Gods on sainted seats.

Yet some there be that by due steps aspire

To lay their just hands on that golden key

That opes the palace of eternity;
To such my errand is; and, but for

Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream;
And the slope sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile welcome Joy, and Feast,
Midnight Shout and Revelry,
Tipsy Dance and Jollity.
Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odors, dropping wine.
Rigor now has gone to bed.
And Advice with scrupulous head,
Strict Age, and sour Severity,
With their grave saws in slumber lie.
We that are of purer fire
Imitate the starry quire,

Who in their nightly watchful spheres

Lead in swift round the months and

That ne'er art called, but when the dragon womb

Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom,

And makes one blot of all the air;
Stay thy cloudy ebon chair,
Wherein thou rid'st with Hecate, and
befriend

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out,

Ere the babbling eastern scout,
The nice Morn, on the Indian steep
From her cabined loophole peep,
And to the telltale sun descry
Our concealed solemnity.

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground

In a light fantastic round.

THE MEASURE.

Break off, break off, I feel the different pace

Of some chaste footing near about this ground.

Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees;

Our number may affright: Some virgin sure

(For so I can distinguish by mine art)

Benighted in these woods. Now to my charms,

And to my wily trains; I shall ere long

Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed

About my mother Circé. Thus I hurl

My dazzling spells into the spungy air,

Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,

And give it false presentments, lest the place

And my quaint habits breed astonishment,

And put the damsel to suspicious flight,

Which must not be, for that's against my course:

I, under fair pretence of friendly

ends,

And well-placed words of glozing courtesy

Baited with reasons not unplausible, Wind me into the easy-hearted man,

This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,

My best guide now; methought it was the sound

Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe

Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds,

When for their teeming flocks, and granges full,

In wanton dance, they praise the bounteous Pan,

And thank the Gods amiss. I should be loath

To meet the rudeness, and swilled insolence

Of such late wassailers; yet O! where else

Shall I inform my unacquainted feet In the blind mazes of this tangled wood?

My brothers, when they saw me wearied out

With this long way, resolving here to lodge

Under the spreading favor of these

They had engaged their wandering steps too far;

And envious darkness, ere they could return,

Had stole them from me: else, O thievish Night,

Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,

In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars,

That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps

With everlasting oil, to give due light

To the misled and lonely traveller? This is the place, as well as I may

guess,

Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth

Was rife, and perfect in my listening

ear,

Yet nought but single darkness do I find.

What might this be? A thousand fantasies

Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire,

And airy tongues, that syllable men's

names

Turn forth her silver lining on the night,

And casts a gleam over this tufted

grove:

I cannot halloo to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest

I'll venture, for my new enlivened spirits

Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.

SONG.

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen

Within thy airy shell, By slow Meander's margent green, And in the violet-embroidered vale,

Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;

Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair

That likest thy Narcissus are?
O, if thou have

Hid them in some flowery cave,
Tell me but where.
Sweet queen of parley, daughter of
the sphere!

So mayst thou be translated to the
skies,

And give resounding grace to all heaven harmonies.