IL PENSEROSO. HENCE, vain deluding joys, The brood of Folly, without father bred! Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, 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, Black, 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, His daughter she; in Saturn's reign With a sad leaden downward cast, And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Aye round about Jove's altar sing; 'Less Philomel will deign a song, Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, Far from all resort of mirth, |