MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.
I've read thy soul's fair nightpiece, and have seen Th' amours and courtship of the silent Queen, Her stoln descents to Earth, and what did move her To juggle first with Heav'n, then with a lover, With Latmos' louder rescue, and--alas!-- To find her out a hue and cry in brass; Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad Nocturnal pilgrimage, with thy dreams clad In fancies darker than thy cave, thy glass Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass In her calm voyage what discourse she heard Of spirits, what dark groves and ill-shap'd guard Ismena led thee through, with thy proud flight O'er Periardes, and deep, musing night Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green The neighbour shades wear, and what forms are seen In their large bowers, with that sad path and seat Which none but light-heel'd nymphs and fairies beat;[55] Their solitary life, and how exempt From common frailty, the severe contempt They have of man, their privilege to live A tree, or fountain, and in that reprieve What ages they consume, with the sad vale Of Diophania, and the mournful tale, Of th' bleeding vocal myrtle; these and more Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score To thy rare fancy for, nor dost thou fall From thy first majesty, or ought at all Betray consumption; thy full vig'rous bays Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays Of style, or matter. Just so have I known Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down Deriv'd her birth, in gentle murmurs steal To their next vale, and proudly there reveal Her streams in louder accents, adding still More noise and waters to her channel, till At last swoln with increase she glides along The lawns and meadows in a wanton throng Of frothy billows, and in one great name Swallows the tributary brooks' drown'd fame. Nor are they mere inventions, for we In th' same piece find scatter'd philosophy And hidden, dispers'd truths that folded lie In the dark shades of deep allegory; So neatly weav'd, like arras, they descry Fables with truth, fancy with history. So that thou hast in this thy curious mould Cast that commended mixture wish'd of old, Which shall these contemplations render far Less mutable, and lasting as their star, And while there is a people or a sun, Endymion's story with the moon shall run.
[55] So Grosart, for the heat of the original.