Such worth as this is Shall fix my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses. Let her full glory, My fancies, fly before ye; Be ye my fictions:—but her story. QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES, ETC. 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-stol’n joy He slept, and dreamt 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 th’ hast been, Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ 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 Thine eyes. _Chorus_. It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise, Not from the East, but from Thine eyes. _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’ persuasive powers, Where he meant frosts he scattered flowers. _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 blest the sight, We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. _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 of heaven and earth, To fit a bed for this huge birth. _Thyrsis_ Proud world, said I, cease your contest, And let the mighty babe alone, The phœnix builds the phœnix’ 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 embraves this morn, Made His own bed ere He was born. _Tityrus_