SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring-
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak, 135
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look, 14°
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honey'd thigh
That at her ftowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep, 145
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid. 15°
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, 155
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars massy-proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light. 160
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
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