Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth:

And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

Weep no more, woeful Shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead;

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor:

So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky.
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, [waves;
Through the dear might of HIM that walk'd the
Where, other groves and other streams along,
With nectar
locks he laves,

pure

his oozy

And hears the inexpressive nuptial song,

In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love.

There entertain him all the saints above,

In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move,
And wipe the tears from ever from his eyes.

Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus

sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills,
While the still morn went out with sandals gray;
He touch'd the tender stops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay;
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay :

At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue;
To morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.

THE END OF LYCIDAS.