His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To archèd walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, 135 Where the rude axe with heavèd 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, 140 Hide me from day’s garish eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep, 145 Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings, in aery stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids laid. 150 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 cloisters pale, And love the high-embowèd 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 quire below, In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit, and rightly spell 170 Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew; Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, 175 And I with thee will choose to live. _John Milton._ LXXXVII _CONTENTATION._ DIRECTED TO MY DEAR FATHER, AND MOST WORTHY FRIEND, MR. ISAAC WALTON. Heaven, what an age is this! what race Of giants are sprung up, that dare Thus fly in the Almighty’s face, And with his Providence make war! I can go nowhere but I meet 5 With malcontents and mutineers, As if in life was nothing sweet, And we must blessings reap in tears. O senseless man! that murmurs still For happiness, and does not know, 10 Even though he might enjoy his will, What he would have to make him so. Is it true happiness to be By undiscerning Fortune placed In the most eminent degree, 15 Where few arrive, and none stand fast?