I now come to the most musical and most graceful, therefore most lyrical, of his poems. I have left out just three stanzas, because of the sentimentalism of which I have spoken: I would have left out more if I could have done so without spoiling the symmetry of the poem. My reader must be friendly enough to one who is so friendly to him, to let his peculiarities pass unquestioned--amongst the rest his conceits, as well as the trifling discord that the shepherds should be called, after the classical fashion--ill agreeing, from its associations, with Christian song--Tityrus and Thyrsis. A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY SUNG BY THE SHEPHERDS. _Chorus_. Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight Hath met love's noon in nature's night; Come, lift we up our loftier song, And wake the sun that lies too long. To all our world of well-stolen[140] joy He slept, and dreamed of no such thing, While we found out heaven's fairer eye, And kissed the cradle of our king: Tell him he rises now too late To show us aught worth looking at. Tell him we now can show him more Than he e'er showed to mortal sight-- Than he himself e'er saw before, Which to be seen needs not his light: Tell him, Tityrus, where thou hast been; Tell him, Thyrsis, what thou hast seen. _Tityrus_. Gloomy night embraced the place Where the noble infant lay: The babe looked up and showed his face: In spite of darkness it was day. It was thy day, sweet, and did rise Not from the east, but from thy eyes. _Chorus._ It was thy day, sweet, &c. _Thyrsis_. Winter chid aloud, and sent The angry north to wage his wars: The north forgot his fierce intent, And left perfumes instead of scars. By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frosts, he scattered flowers. _Chorus._ By those sweet eyes', &c. _Both_. We saw thee in thy balmy nest, Young dawn of our eternal day; We saw thine eyes break from the east, And chase the trembling shades away. We saw thee, and we blessed the sight; We saw thee by thine own sweet light. _Chorus._ We saw thee, &c. _Tityrus_. "Poor world," said I, "what wilt thou do To entertain this starry stranger? Is this the best thou canst bestow-- A cold and not too cleanly manger? Contend, the powers of heaven and earth, To fit a bed for this huge birth." _Chorus._ Contend, the powers, &c. _Thyrsis_. "Proud world," said I, "cease your contest, And let the mighty babe alone: The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest-- Love's architecture is his own. The babe, whose birth embraves this morn, Made his own bed ere he was born." _Chorus._ The babe, whose birth, &c.