Methought I Saw My Late Espoused Saint.

More Safe I Sing With Mortal Voice, Unchang'd To Hoarse Or Mute, Though Fall'n On Evil Days, On Evil Days Though Fall'n, And Evil Tongues.

Thy Liquid Notes That Close The Eye Of Day.

Sweetest Echo, Sweetest Nymph, That Liv'st Unseen Within Thy Airy Shell, By Slow Meander's Margent Green, And In The Violet-embroidered Vale.

Retiring From The Popular Noise, I Seek This Unfrequented Place To Find Some Ease.

Bacchus, That First From Out The Purple Grape Crush'd The Sweet Poison Of Misused Wine.