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And caſts a gleame over this tufted Grove.
I cannot hallow to my Brothers, but
Such noiſe as I can make to be heard fardeſt
I'll venter, for my new enliv'nd ſpirits
Prompt me; and they perhaps are not farre off.
Song.
Sweet echo, ſweeteſt nymph that liv'ſt unſeene
Within thy ayrie ſhell
By ſlow Meander's margent greene,
And in the violet-imbroider'd vale
Where the love-lorne Nightingale
Nightly to thee her ſad Song mourneth well.
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle Paire
That likeſt thy Narciſſus are?
O, if thou have
Hid them in ſome flowrie Cave,
Tell me but where
Sweet Queen of Parlie, Daughter of the Sphere,
So maist thou be tranſlated to the skies,
And give reſounding grace to all Heav'ns Harmonies.
Com. Can any mortall mixture of Earths mould
Breath ſuch Divine inchanting raviſhment?
Sure ſomething holy lodges in that breſt,
And with theſe raptures moves the vocal aire
To teſtifie his hidden reſidence;
How ſweetly did they float upon the wings
Of Silence, through the emptie-vaulted night
At every fall ſmoothing the Raven downe
Of darkneſſe till ſhe ſmil'd: I have oft heard
