The Song of the Brachmani, in Answer to Orpheus his Harp.
1
Heark!
Orpheus is a Seaman grown,
No winds of late have rudely blown,
Nor waves their troubled heads advance!
His Harp hath made the winds so mild,
They whisper now as reconcil'd,
The waves are sooth'd into a dance.
2
See how the list'ning Dolphins play!
And willingly mistake their way,
As when they heard Arions straines!
Whom once their scaly Ancestor,
Convay'd upon his back to shore,
And took his musick for his pains.
3
We Priests that burn Loves Sacrifice,
Our Orpheus greet with ravish'd eyes;
For by this calmnesse we are sure,
His Harp doth now prepare the way,
That Indamora's voyage may
Be more delightful, and secure.
4
And now th' inchanted mists shall clear,
And Loves true Temple straight appear,
(Long bid from men by sacred power,)
Where noble Virgins still shall meet,
And breath their Orizons, more sweet
Than is the Springs ungather'd flower.
The Barque having taken port, the Masquers appear in a Maratime
Chariot, made of a spungie Rockstuff mixt with shels, Sea-weeds,
Corral, and Pearl, born upon an Axletree with golden wheels without
a rimme, with flat spokes like the blade of an Ore comming out
of the Naves. This Chariot was drawn by Seamonsters, and floated
with a sweet motion in the Sea:
Indamora Queen of
Narsinga, sate enthron'd
in the highest part of this Chariot, in a rich seat, the back of
which was a great Skallpo Shell. The habit of the Masquers was of
Isabella Colour, and Watchet, with Bases in large panes cut through,
all over richly embroidered with silver, and the dressing of their
heads was of silver, with small falls of white feathers tipp'd with Watchet.
This sight thus moving on the water, was accompanied with
the Musick and Voyces of the
Chorus.
