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Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
I did not err; there does a sable cloud
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.
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?
Oh! 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's harmonies.
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?
Sure something holy lodges in that breast,
How sweetly do they float upon the wings
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs,
Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul
And lap it in Elysium: Scylla wept,9
And chid her barking waves into attention,
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,
I never heard till now. I'll speak to her,
And she shall be my queen. Hail, foreign wonder!
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed,
Unless the goddess that in rural shrine
Dwell'st here with Pan, or Sylvan; by blest song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog
Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift
What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?
Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth.
Could that divide you from near-ushering guides?
They left me weary on a grassy turf.