But now, alas! poore solitarie man!
In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide
To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan,
Whom no man living in the world hath eyde:
For Pan is dead but I am still alive,
And live in men who honour to me give:
They honour also those that honour me
With sacred songs. But thou now singst to trees
To rocks to Hills, to Caves that senselesse be
And mindlesse quite of thy hid mysteries,
In the void aire thy idle voice is spread,
Thy Muse is musick to the deaf or dead.
Now out alas! said I, and wele-away
The tale thou tellest I confesse too true.
Fond man so doteth on this living clay
His carcase dear, and doth its joyes pursue,
That of his precious soul he takes no keep
Heavens love and reasons light lie fast asleep.
This bodies life vain shadow of the soul
With full desire they closely do embrace,
In fleshly mud like swine they wallow and roll,
The loftiest mind is proud but of the face
Or outward person; if men but adore
That walking sepulchre, cares for no more.
This is the measure of mans industry
To wexen some body and getten grace
To ’s outward presence; though true majestie
Crown’d with that heavenly light and lively rayes
Of holy wesdome and Seraphick love,
From his deformed soul he farre remove.
Slight knowledge and lesse virtue serves his turn
For this designe. If he hath trod the ring
Of pedling arts; in usuall pack-horse form
Keeping the rode; O! then ’t’s a learned thing.
If any chanc’d to write or speak what he
Conceives not ’t were a foul discourtesie.
To cleanse the soul from sinne, and still diffide
Whether our reasons eye be clear enough
To intromit true light, that fain would glide
Into purg’d hearts, this way ’s too harsh and rough:
Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark
When sloathfull men have eyes so dimme and stark.
These be our times. But if my minds presage
Bear any moment, they can ne’re last long,
A three branch’d Flame will soon sweep clean the stage
Of this old dirty drosse and all wex young.
My words into this frozen air I throw
Will then grow vocall at that generall thaw.
Nay, now thou ’rt perfect mad, said he, with scorn,
And full of foul derision quit the place.
The skie did rattle with his wings ytorn
Like to rent silk. But I in the mean space
Sent after him this message by the wind
Be ’t so I ’m mad, yet sure I am thou ’rt blind.
By this the out-stretch’d shadows of the trees
Pointed me home-ward, and with one consent
Foretold the dayes descent. So straight I rise
Gathering my limbs from off the green pavement
Behind me leaving then the slooping Light.
_Cl._ And now let’s up, _Vesper_ brings on the Night.
_FINIS._
[Illustration]
_A Particular Interpretation appertaining to
the three last books of the Platonick
Song of the Soul._
A