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248 POEMS.
So finks the day-ftar in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new fpangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning iky:
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,
Where other groves and other ftreams along,
With ne&ar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpreffive nuptial fong,
In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the faints above,
In folemn troops, and fweet focieties,
That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the fhepherds weep no more3
Henceforth thou art the genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.
Thus fang the uncouth fwain to th' oaks and rills,
While the flill morn went out with fandals gray,
He touch'd the tender flops of various quills,
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay:
And now the fun had ftretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the weftern bayj
At laft he rofe, and twitch'd his mantle blue:
To-morrow to frefh woods and paftures new.