Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. Whose saintly visage is too bright Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, To set her beauty's praise above The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended: Thee, bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, His daughter she; in Saturn's reign With a sad leaden downward cast, Gently o'er the accustom'd oak: Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, I woo, to hear thy even-song; And, missing thee, I walk unseen Oft, on a plat of rising ground, |