I fairly731 step aside
And hearken, if I may, her business here.
The lady enters.
LADY. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true:
My best guide, now. Methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund732 flute or gamesome 733 pipe
Stirs up amongst the loose, unlettered hinds,734
When for their teeming flocks and granges full
In wanton735 dance they praise the bounteous Pan
And thank the gods amiss.736 I should be loath
To meet the rudeness 737 and swill’d insolence
Of such late wassailers.738 Yet where else
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet
In the blind maze of this tangled Wood?
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out
With this long way, resolving here to lodge
Under the spreading favor of these pines,
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side,
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit
As the kind, hospitable woods provide.
They left me then, when the gray-hooded ev’n
Like a sad votarist 739 in palmer’s 740 weeds 741
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus’ wain.742
But where they are, and why they came not back,
Is now the labor of my thoughts. ’Tis likeliest
They had engaged their wand’ring steps too far,
And envious darkness, ere they could return,
Had stol’n them from me—else, O thievish night!
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end,
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars
That Nature hung in Heav’n, and filled their lamps
With everlasting oil, to give due light
To the misled and lonely traveller?
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
Whence ev’n now the tumult of loud mirth
Was rife 743 and perfect 744 in my list’ning ear.
Yet nought but single 745 darkness do I find.
What might this be? A thousand fantasies
Begin to throng into my memory,
Of calling shapes and beck’ning shadows dire,
And airy tongues that syllable men’s names
On sands and shores, and desert wildernesses.
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended
By a strong siding 746 champion, conscience—
O welcome, pure-eyed faith, white-handed hope,
Thou flittering Angel girt with golden wings!
And thou, unblemished form of chastity,
see ye visibly, and now believe
That He, the supreme good, t’ whom all things ill
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,
Would send a glist’ring 747 guardian, if need were,
To keep my life and honor unassailed.
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err: there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.
I cannot halloo to my brothers, but
Such noise as I can make, to be heard farthest,
I’ll venture, for my new-enlivened spirits
Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off.
SONG
Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph that liv’st unseen
Within thy airy cell
By slow Maeander’s 748 margent green,
And in the violet-embroidered vale
Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well,
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus 749 are?
O if thou have
Hid them in some flow’ry cave,
Tell me but where,
Sweet queen of parley,750 daughter of the sphere,
So may’st thou be translated to the skies,
And give resounding grace to all Heav’n’s harmonies.
COMUS. Can any mortal mixture of earth’s mould
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?
Sure, something holy lodges in that breast
And with these raptures moves the vocal 751 air
To testify his hidden residence!
How sweetly did they float upon the wings
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,
At every fall 752 smoothing the raven down753
Of darkness, till she smiled. I have oft heard
My mother, Circe, with the Sirens three,
Amidst the flow’ry-kirtled Naiades,754
Culling their potent 755 herbs and baleful drugs,
Who as they sung would take the prisoned soul
And lap it in Elysium. Scylla 756 wept
And chid her barking waves into attention,
And fell Charybdis 757 murmured soft applause!
Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense,
And in sweet madness robbed it of itself.
But such a sacred and home-felt 758 delight,
Such sober certainty of waking bliss,
I never heard till now. I’ll speak to her
And she shall be my queen.
Hail, foreign wonder!
Whom certain these rough shades did never breed—
Unless the goddess that in rural shrine
Dwell’st here with Pan 759 or Silvan,760 by blest song
Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog
To touch the prosperous growth of this tall Wood!
LADY. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise
That is addressed to unattending ears.
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift761
How to regain my severed company
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo
To give me answer from her mossy couch.
COMUS. What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus?
LADY. Dim darkness, and this leafy labyrinth.
COMUS. Could that divide you from near-ushering 762
guides?
LADY. They left me, weary, on a grassy turf.
COMUS. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why?
LADY. To seek i’ th’ valley some cool friendly spring.
COMUS. And left your fair side all unguarded, lady?
LADY. They were but twain, and purposed quick return.
COMUS. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them?
LADY. How easy my misfortune is to hit! 763
COMUS. Imports 764 their loss, beside the present need?
LADY. No less than if I should my brothers lose.
COMUS. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom?
LADY. As smooth as Hebe’s,765 their unrazored lips.
COMUS. Two such I saw, what time the labored ox
In his loose traces766 from the furrow came,
And the swinked 767 hedger 768 at his supper sat.
I saw ’em under a green mantling 769 vine
That crawls along the side of yon small hill,
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots.
Their port 770 was more than human, as they stood:
I took it for a fairy vision
Of some gay 771 creatures of the element
That in the colors of the rainbow live
And play i’ th’ pleated clouds. I was awe-struck,
And as I passed I worshipped! If those you seek,
It were a journey like the path to Heav’n
To help you find them.
LADY. Gentle villager,
What readiest way would bring me to that place?
COMUS. Due west it rises, from this shrubby point.
LADY. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose,
In such a scant allowance of star-light,
Would overtask the best land-pilot’s art,
Without the sure guess of well-practiced feet.
COMUS. I know each lane, and every alley green,
Dingle772 or bushy dell773 of this wide wood,
And every bosky774 bourn,775 from side to side
My daily walks and ancient neighborhood,
And if your stray attendance776 be yet lodged777
Or shroud778 within these limits, I shall know
Ere morrow wake or the low-roosted lark
From her thatched pallet 779 rouse. If otherwise,
I can conduct you, lady, to a low780
But loyal781 cottage, where you may be safe
Till further quest.
LADY.
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