Oh ye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand, And bound him fast; without his rod reversed, And backward mutters of dissevering power, We cannot free the lady that sits here In stony fetters fixed and motionless : Yet stay, be not disturb'd; now I bethink me, Some other means I have which may be used, Which once of Melibœus old I learn'd,
The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on plains. There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She, guiltless maiden, flying the mad pursuit Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen,
Commended her fair innocence to the flood, That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course. The water-nymphs, that in the bottom play'd, Held up their pearled wrists and took her in, Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall; Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head. And gave her to his daughters to imbathe In nectar'd lavers strew'd with asphodel; And through the porch and inlet of each sense Dropp'd in ambrosial oils, till she revived, And underwent a quick immortal change, Made goddess of the river: still she retains Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make, Which she with precious viall'd liquors heals; For which the shepherds at their festivals Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays,
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock
The clasping charm, and thaw the numming spell,
If she be right invoked in warbled song;. For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift To aid a virgin, such as was herself, In hard-besetting need; this will I try, And add the power of some adjuring verse.
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair ; Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,
Listen, and save.
Listen, and appear to us,
In name of great Oceanus;
By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, And Tethy's grave majestic pace, By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look, And the Carpathian wizard's hook, By scaly Triton's winding shell, And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell, By Leucothea's lovely hands, And her son that rules the strands, By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet, And the songs of Syrens sweet, By dead Parthenope's dear tomb, And fair Ligea's golden comb, Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, Sleeking her soft alluring rocks; By all the nymphs that nightly dance Upon thy streams with wily glance, Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head, From thy coral-paven bed,
And bridle in thy headlong wave, Till thou our summons answer'd have.
SABRINA rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings.
By the rushy-fringed bank,
Where grows the willow and the ozier dank, My sliding chariot stays,
Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen Of turkis blue, and emerald green, That in the channel strays; Whilst from off the waters fleet Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread; Gentle swain, at thy request, I am here.
Spir. Goddess dear,
We implore thy powerful hand To undo the charmed band
Of true virgin here distress'd,
Through the force, and through the wile, Of unbless'd enchanter vile.
Sabr. Shepherd, 'tis my office best To help ensnared chastity: Brightest lady, look on me : Thus I sprinkle on thy breast Drops, that from my fountain pure I have kept, of precious cure; Thrice upon thy finger's tip, Thrice upon thy rubied lip:
Next this marble venom'd seat,
Smear'd with gums of glutinous heat,
I touch with chaste palms moist and cold:
Now the spell hath lost his hold;
And I must haste, ere morning hour,
To wait in Amphitrite's bower.
Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat.
Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine,
Sprung of old Anchises' line,
May thy brimmed waves for this Their full tribute never miss From a thousand petty rills,
That tumble down the snowy hills: Summer drought, or singed air, Never scorch thy tresses fair, Nor wet October's torrent flood Thy molten crystal fill with mud; May thy billows roll ashore The beryl and the golden ore; May thy lofty head be crown'd With many a tower and terrace round, And here and there thy banks upon With groves of myrrh and cinnamon.
Come, lady, while Heaven lends us grace, Let us fly this cursed place, Lest the sorcerer us entice With some other new device. Not a waste or needless sound, Till we come to holier ground; I shall be your faithful guide Through this gloomy covert wide, And not many furlongs thence Is your father's residence, Where this night are met in state, Many a friend to gratulate His wish'd presence; and beside All the swains, that there abide, With jigs and rural dance resort; We shall catch them at their sport, And our sudden coming there
Will double all their mirth and cheer: Come, let us haste, the stars grow high, But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.
The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the president's castle; then come in country dancers, after them the Attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.
Spir. Back, shepherds, back; enough your play, Till next sunshine holyday:
Here be, without duck or nod,
Other trippings to be trod
Of lighter toes, and such court guise As Mercury did first devise,
With the mincing Dryades,
On the lawns and on the leas.
This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.
Noble lord, and lady bright, I have brought ye new delight; Here behold so goodly grown
Three fair branches of your own;
Heaven hath timely tried their youth,
Their faith, their patience, and their truth,
And sent them here through hard assays
With a crown of deathless praise,
To triumph in victorious dance
O'er sensual Folly and Intemperance.
The dances [being] ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.
Spir. To the ocean now I fly, And those happy climes that lie Where day never shuts his eye, Up in the broad fields of the sky: There I suck the liquid air All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three That sing about the golden tree:
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