Through the sweet vales a Quire of Damsels sing Eternall Pæans to their King. The stars with sparkling light stand round I see, Twinkling to their shrill melodie. Her and her tender darling, then I spy, I'th' mid'st of that blest company; With looks more fresh and sweet, then are the Roses Of which her Garlands shee composes-- Two flowry Chaplets, which with Gems set round Her owne and Nephew's temples crown'd. But here a veyle was drawne, I must not prie Nor search too farre with mortall eye, Nor would you more. It may suffice that shee Hath chang'd fraile flesh for blest Eternitie.
_Tursci_, seu brevior mihi Seu pernox oculos composuit sopor, Pennas Somnia lævibus Affigunt humeris; jamque virentia Latus prata superuolo, Quà se cumque novum mollè tumentibus Campis explicuit nemus, Herbosæque patet scena superbiæ: Mox & nubibus altior, Mistus flumineis ales oloribus; Vivos despicio lacus, Et dulci volucrem carmine mentior.
VVhether a shorter sleep, or whether A long one (_Turscius_) joyns mine eyes together In my soft dreames, me thinks, I see To my light shoulders wings set on, and I With joy transported, upward soare, The flowry Meddowes, and the pastures o're; Where the greene Grove its coole shade yeilds To th'stately grasse plotts, and ripe swelling fields: Straight, 'mid'st the river Swans, up hyer A winged fowle above the cloudes I'aspire; The lively Lakes below, I sleight, And with sweet straines a bird I counterfeit.
Jam tunc nubila, jam mihi Blandis dissiliunt fulmina cantibus; Et quæ plurima circuit Collum, puniceâ vincior Iride. Idem jam vigil, & meus, Non ingrata simul somnia dispuli, Cùm ter mobilibus lyram Percussi digitis, immemor & ducis Nil sectator Horatii, Sublimis liquidum nitor in aëra; Et nunc littera, nunc vagas Siccis trajiciens passibus insulas, Nil mortale mei gero, & Jam nil sollicito debeo ponderi.
See, now me thinkes, the cloudes in throngs The lightning leaps too, at my ravishing songs; _Iris_ about my neck hangs round, And with her divers colour'd bow, I'me bound. Being now my selfe, and newly wak'd, My not unwelcome dreames, just now off shak'd; Thrice o're my Lute, I scarce had run With nible finger neat division; Remembring _Horace_, Thee, my guide, When my high Genius through th'ayre doth ride; Now o're the scatt'red Islands, then O're Seas, with dry feet passing back again; Nothing that's mortall of mee, now I beare, and nought to my dull bulke I owe.