But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy,
Hail, divinest melancholy,
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human sight.
But O the heavy change, now thou art gone,
Now thou art gone and never must return !
But that twohanded engine at the door
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.
Come and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastic toe.
Death is the golden key that opens the palace of
Hail holy light, offspring of Heav’n firstborn!
Here we may reign secure; and in my choice
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell :
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n.
Mortals that would follow me,
Love virtue; she alone is free;
She can teach you how to climb….
Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
O nightingale, that on your bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still.
Peace hath her victories
No less renown’d than war.
Sweet bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy !
Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among.
I woo, to hear thy even song.
That on talent which is death to hide.
The childhood shows the man,
As morning shows the day.
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.