JOHN MILTON
Sent by som spirit to mortals good, Or th 'unseen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail, To walk the studious Cloysters pale, And love the high embowed Roof, With antick Pillars massy proof, And storied Windows richly dight, Casting a dimm religious light. There let the pealing Organ blow, To the full voic'd Quire below, In Service high, and Anthems cleer, As may with swcctnes, through mine ear, Dissolve me into extasies, And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the pcacefull hermitage, The Hairy Gown and Mosty Cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every Star that Hcav'n doth shew, And every Herb that sips the dew; Till old experience do attain To somthing like Prophetic strain. These pleasures Melancholy give, And I with thee will choose to live.
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��'RE the smooth enameld green Where no print of step hath been, Follow me as I sing, And touch the warbled string.
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