Henry Purcell

Myriad-voiced Queen, Enchantress of the air,Bride of the life of man! With tuneful reed,With string and horn and high-adoring quireThy welcome we prepare.In silver-speaking mirrors of desire,In joyous ravishment of mystery draw thou near,With heavenly echo of thoughts, that dreaming lieChain'd in unborn oblivion drear,Thy many-hearted grace restoreUnto our isle our own to be,And make again our Graces three.

Turn, O return! In merry EnglandFoster'd thou wert with infant Liberty.Her gloried oaks, that standWith trembling leaves and giant heartDrinking in beauty from the summer moon,Her wild-wood once was dear to thee.

There the birds with tiny artEarth's immemorial cradle-tuneWarble at dawn to fern and fawn,In the budding thickets making merry;And for their love the primrose faintFloods the green shade with youthful scent.

Come, thy jocund spring renewBy hyacinthine lakes of blue:Thy beauty shall enchant the buxom May;And all the summer months shall strew thy way,And rose and honeysuckle rearTheir flowery screens, till under fruit and berryThe tall brake groweth golden with the year.

Thee fair Poetry oft hath sought,Wandering lone in wayward thought,On level meads by gliding streams,When summer noon is full of dreams:And thy loved airs her soul invade,Haunting retired the willow shade.

Or in some walled orchard nookShe communes with her ancient book,Beneath the branches laden low;While the high sun o'er bosom'd snowSmiteth all day the long hill-sideWith ripening cornfields waving wide.

There if thou linger all the year,No jar of man can reach thine ear,Or sweetly comes, as when the soundFrom hidden villages around,Threading the woody knolls, is borneOf bells that dong the Sabbath morn.

The sea with melancholy warMoateth about our castled shore;His world-wide elemental moanGirdeth our lives with tragic zone.

He, ere men dared his watery path,Fenced them aloof in wrath;Their jealous brotherhoodsSund'ring with bitter floods:Till science grew and skill,And their adventurous willChallenged his boundaries, and went freeTo know the round world, and the seaFrom midday night to midnight sunBinding all nations into one.

Yet shall his storm and mastering waveAssure the empire to the brave;And to his billowy bass belongsThe music of our patriot songs,When to the wind his ridges goIn furious following, careering a-row,Lasht with hail and withering snow:And ever undaunted hearts outrideHis rushing waters wide.

But when the winds fatigued or fledHave left the drooping barks unsped,And nothing stirs his idle plainSave fire-breathed ships with silvery train,While lovingly his waves he layeth,And his slow heart in passion swellsTo the pale moon in heav'n that strayeth,And all his mighty music deepWhispers among the heapèd shells,Or in dark caverns lies asleep;--Then dreams of Peace invite,Haunting our shore with kisses light:Nay--even Love's Paphian Queen hath comeOut of her long retirèd homeTo show again her beauty bright;And twice or thrice in sight hath play'dOf a young lover unaffray'd,And all his verse immortal made.

Love to Love calleth,Love unto Love replieth:From the ends of the earth, drawn by invisible bands,Over the dawning and darkening landsLove cometh to Love.To the pangs of desire;To the heart by courage and mightEscaped from hell,From the torment of raging fire,From the sighs of the drowning main,From shipwreck of fear and pain,From the terror of night.

All mankind by Love shall be bandedTo combat Evil, the many-handed:For the spirit of man on beauty feedeth,The airy fancy he heedeth,He regardeth Truth in the heavenly height,In changeful pavilions of loveliness dight,The sovran sun that knows not the night;He loveth the beauty of earth,And the sweet birds' mirth;And out of his heart there fallethA melody-making riverOf passion, that runneth everTo the ends of the earth and crieth,That yearneth and calleth;And Love from the heart of manTo the heart of man replieth:On the wings of desireLove cometh to Love.

To me, to me, fair hearted Goddess, come,To Sorrow come,Where by the grave I linger dumb;With sorrow bow thine head,For all my beauty is dead,Leave Freedom's vaunt and playful thought awhile,Come with thine unimpassioned smileOf heavenly peace, and with thy fourfold choirOf fair uncloying harmonyUnveil the palaces where man's desireKeepeth celestial solemnity.

Lament, fair hearted queen, lament with me:For when thy seer died no song was sung,Nor for our heroes fal'n by land or seaHath honour found a tongue:Nor aught of beauty for their tomb can frameWorthy their noble name.Let Mirth go bare: make mute thy dancing string:With thy majestic consolationSweeten our suffering.Speak thou my woe; that from her painMy spirit arise to see againThe Truth unknown that keeps our faith,The Beauty unseen that bates our breath,The heaven that doth our joy renew,And drinketh up our tears as dew.