The Attendant Spirit, from Comus
TO the ocean now I fly,And those happy climes that lieWhere day never shuts his eye,Up in the broad fields of the sky.There I suck the liquid air,All amid the gardens fairOf Hesperus, and his daughters threeThat sing about the golden tree.Along the crisped shades and bowersRevels the spruce and jocund Spring;The Graces and the rosy-bosomed HoursThither all their bounties bring.There eternal Summer dwells,And west winds with musky wingAbout the cedarn alleys flingNard and cassia’s balmy smells.Iris there with humid bowWaters the odorous banks, that blowFlowers of more mingled hueThan her purpled scarf can show,And drenches with Elysian dew(List, mortals, if your ears be true)Beds of hyacinth and roses,Where young Adonis oft reposes,Waxing well of his deep woundIn slumber soft, and on the groundSadly sits the Assyrian queen.But far above, in spangled sheen,Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced,After her wandering labours long,Till free consent the gods amongMake her his eternal bride,And from her fair unspotted sideTwo blissful twins are to be born,Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done:I can fly or I can runQuickly to the green earth’s end,Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend,And from thence can soar as soonTo the corners of the moon.Mortals that would follow me,Love Virtue; she alone is free,She can teach ye how to climbHigher than the sphery chime;Or if feeble Virtue were,Heaven itself would stoop to her.
JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE 1612–1650