HENCE loathèd Melancholy

Of Cerberus and #CCCCFFest Midnight born

In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongst horrid shapes and shrieks and sights unholy！

Find out some uncouth cell

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings

And the night-raven sings；

There under ebon shades and low-brow'd rocks

As ragged as thy locks

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell！

But come thou Goddess fair and free

In heaven yclept Euphrosyne

And by men heart-easing Mirth

Whom lovely Venus at a birth

With two sister Graces more

To ivy-crownèd Bacchus bore；

Or whether （as some sager sing）

The frolic wind that breathes the spring

Zephyr with Aurora playing

As he met her once a-Maying—

There on beds of violets blue

And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew

Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair

So buxom blithe and debonair.

Haste thee Nymph and bring with thee

Jest and youthful jollity

Quips and cranks and wanton wiles

Nods and becks and wreathèd smiles

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek

And love to live in dimple sleek；

Sport that wrinkled Care derides

And Laughter holding both his sides：—

Come and trip it as you go

On the light fantastic toe；

And in thy right hand lead with thee

The mountain-nymph sweet Liberty；

And if I give thee honour due

Mirth admit me of thy crew

To live with her and live with thee

In unreprovèd pleasures free；

To hear the lark begin his flight

And singing startle the dull night

From his watch-tower in the skies

Till the dappled dawn doth rise；

Then to come in spite of sorrow

And at my window bid good-morrow

Through the sweet-brier or the vine

Or the twisted eglantine：

While the cock with lively din

Scatters the rear of darkness thin

And to the stack or the barn-door

Stoutly struts his dames before：

Oft listening how the hounds and horn

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn

From the side of some hoar hill

Through the high wood echoing shrill：

Sometime walking not unseen

By hedgerow elms on hillocks green

Right against the eastern gate

Where the great Sun begins his state

Robed in flames and amber light

The clouds in thousand liveries dight；

While the ploughman near at hand

Whistles o'er the furrow'd land

And the milkmaid singeth blithe

And the mower whets his scythe

And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures

Whilst the landscape round it measures；

Russet lawns and fallows gray

Where the nibbling flocks do stray；

Mountains on whose barren breast

The labouring clouds do often rest；

Meadows trim with daisies pied

Shallow brooks and rivers wide；

Towers and battlements it sees

Bosom'd high in tufted trees

Where perhaps some Beauty lies

The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes

From betwixt two aged oaks

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met

Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs and other country messes

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses；

And then in haste her bower she leaves

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves；

Or if the earlier season lead

To the tann'd haycock in the mead.

Sometimes with secure delight

The upland hamlets will invite

When the merry bells ring round

And the jocund rebecks sound

To many a youth and many a maid

Dancing in the chequer'd shade；

And young and old come forth to play

On a sunshine holy-day

Till the livelong daylight fail.

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale

With stories told of many a feat

How Faery Mab the junkets eat：—

She was pinch'd and pull'd she said；

And he by Friar's lantern led；

Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat

To earn his cream-bowl duly set

When in one night ere glimpse of morn

His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn

That ten day-labourers could not end；

Then lies him down the lubber fiend

And stretch'd out all the chimney's length

Basks at the fire his hairy strength；

And crop-full out of doors he flings

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales to bed they creep

By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep.

Tower'd cities please us then

And the busy hum of men

Where throngs of knights and barons bold

In weeds of peace high triumphs hold

With store of ladies whose bright eyes

Rain influence and judge the prize

Of wit or arms while both contend

To win her grace whom all commend.

There let Hymen oft appear

In saffron robe with taper clear

And pomp and feast and revelry

With mask and antique pageantry；

Such sights as youthful poets dream

On summer eves by haunted stream.

Then to the well-trod stage anon

If Jonson's learned sock be on

Or sweetest Shakespeare Fancy's child

Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever against eating cares

Lap me in soft Lydian airs

Married to immortal verse

Such as the meeting soul may pierce

In notes with many a winding bout

Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out

With wanton heed and giddy cunning

The melting voice through mazes running

Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden soul of harmony；

That Orpheus' self may heave his head

From golden slumber on a bed

Of heap'd Elysian flowers and hear

Such strains as would have won the ear

Of Pluto to have quite set free

His half-regain'd Eurydice.

These delights if thou canst give

Mirth with thee I mean to live.