 | The Shepherd's Garden |  |
20
TO PAN.
Shepherd Pan, who lov'st to play,
On thy oaten pipe all day
Where the singing waters meet,
Lapping round thy horny feet,
Blow into thy reed such sound
Whereto nymphs do beat their ground
When the woods revest their green,
And each shepherd, well beseen,
Holding other cares at call,
Hies him to the festival:
So for thee and more for me
Ours a happy time shall be.
On thy oaten pipe all day
Where the singing waters meet,
Lapping round thy horny feet,
Blow into thy reed such sound
Whereto nymphs do beat their ground
When the woods revest their green,
And each shepherd, well beseen,
Holding other cares at call,
Hies him to the festival:
So for thee and more for me
Ours a happy time shall be.
First I ask, my bleating flocks
Thou wilt guide amongst the rocks,
And the tiny lambkins lead
Whilst the dams securely feed,
So the wolf may fall i' th' snare,
And no enemy be there:
And for those who gave me birth,
Aged couple by the hearth,
Let them, through calm life's decline,
Feel the sun more brightly shine,
Loving still whom love begot,
Stars of heaven declining not.
Thou wilt guide amongst the rocks,
And the tiny lambkins lead
Whilst the dams securely feed,
So the wolf may fall i' th' snare,
And no enemy be there:
And for those who gave me birth,
Aged couple by the hearth,
Let them, through calm life's decline,
Feel the sun more brightly shine,
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Stars of heaven declining not.
Then I bid thee tune thy quill
To the music of the rill,
Begging there a little boon,
As it wanders stone by stone,
That if near my mistress go,
She may all my passion know,
And not turn her from my bower,
Sweet for her with every flower;
But through tender ways may be
Brought by Love to dwell with me:
Blossom born without a tear,
Clothed with joy that angels wear.
To the music of the rill,
Begging there a little boon,
As it wanders stone by stone,
That if near my mistress go,
She may all my passion know,
And not turn her from my bower,
Sweet for her with every flower;
But through tender ways may be
Brought by Love to dwell with me:
Blossom born without a tear,
Clothed with joy that angels wear.
Next my love's most dear perfections
We will trace from our defections:
Eyes which hint the wondrous story
Of the soul's supernal glory,
Ivory teeth, and such a lip
Love himself runs mad to sip,
Hair unfolding wreath by wreath
Subtle gins to snare us with,
That, in faith, you would not know
Any more than I do so,
If there be so fair a creature
In the round of human nature.
We will trace from our defections:
Eyes which hint the wondrous story
Of the soul's supernal glory,
Ivory teeth, and such a lip
Love himself runs mad to sip,
Hair unfolding wreath by wreath
Subtle gins to snare us with,
That, in faith, you would not know
Any more than I do so,
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In the round of human nature.
Ho! god Pan, swart country singer,
Let not sweet division linger;
Puff thy cheeks until they be
Round as apples on the tree:
Hark the throstle in the dell
Troll his lusty carol well!
Here doth love to roam about
The cuckoo with his merry shout:
And at work amongst the trees,
Cheerful sound of buzzing bees.
This fair kingdom all our own,
Cæsars could not paragon.
Let not sweet division linger;
Puff thy cheeks until they be
Round as apples on the tree:
Hark the throstle in the dell
Troll his lusty carol well!
Here doth love to roam about
The cuckoo with his merry shout:
And at work amongst the trees,
Cheerful sound of buzzing bees.
This fair kingdom all our own,
Cæsars could not paragon.
Other singers may decry
Mirth and wholesome jollity,
Searching through a musty brain
Matter for some novel strain,
Taxing twisted phrase and vexing
All their soul to vain perplexing,
But instructed wiselier we,
Like the cuckoo on the tree,
Sing the old song to the letter,
For that Time hath found no better,
Nor another theme employs
Worthier than these country joys.
Mirth and wholesome jollity,
Searching through a musty brain
Matter for some novel strain,
Taxing twisted phrase and vexing
All their soul to vain perplexing,
But instructed wiselier we,
Like the cuckoo on the tree,
Sing the old song to the letter,
For that Time hath found no better,
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Worthier than these country joys.
Therefore pipe, brave shepherd Pan;
Blow and quit thee like a man:
Let thy treble take the wind,
And thy bass come swift behind.
This our life doth gaily pass,
Lying in the summer grass,
Where the chirring grasshopper
Keeps around perpetual whirr,
And the sun-sparks burn and glisten
On the leaves that bend to listen,
Whilst the very clouds seem bound,
Pausing at the silvery sound.
Blow and quit thee like a man:
Let thy treble take the wind,
And thy bass come swift behind.
This our life doth gaily pass,
Lying in the summer grass,
Where the chirring grasshopper
Keeps around perpetual whirr,
And the sun-sparks burn and glisten
On the leaves that bend to listen,
Whilst the very clouds seem bound,
Pausing at the silvery sound.
Pipe, old Shepherd, pipe thy fill:
I will stead thee to thy will;
I will sing a gallant measure,
Tripping to thy light heart's pleasure.
Howsoe'er thy shrill notes ring,
Thou shalt hear me answering;
Not a strain that thou canst blow
But I will be echo to:
For the fairest joy that is
Lives within this country bliss,
To which all other states that are
Do but hold a base compare.
I will stead thee to thy will;
I will sing a gallant measure,
Tripping to thy light heart's pleasure.
Howsoe'er thy shrill notes ring,
Thou shalt hear me answering;
Not a strain that thou canst blow
But I will be echo to:
For the fairest joy that is
Lives within this country bliss,
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Do but hold a base compare.
So may I forsake the strife
And struggle of ambitious life,
I will never cry or crave
Riches more than now I have:
This clear stream and yonder dale
With my cottage in the vale,
Pastures white with nibbling sheep,
Quiet hours that always keep
Counsel of content and learn
How this world doth vainly turn,
Gathering wisdom in such school
Life doth foster fresh and cool.
And struggle of ambitious life,
I will never cry or crave
Riches more than now I have:
This clear stream and yonder dale
With my cottage in the vale,
Pastures white with nibbling sheep,
Quiet hours that always keep
Counsel of content and learn
How this world doth vainly turn,
Gathering wisdom in such school
Life doth foster fresh and cool.
This I ask, and thus would I
Peaceful live and tranquil die.
Peaceful live and tranquil die.
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