LYCID AS*. In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'd in his pafrage from Chefter, on the Irifh feas, 1637. and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their heighth. YE T once more, 0 ye Laurels, and once more Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never fere, I come to pluck your berries harfh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter conftraint, and fad occafion dear, Compels me to diflurb your feafon due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and bath not left his peer : Who would not fing for Lycidas ? he knew Hirnfelf to fing, and build the lofty rhime. He mull not float upon his watry bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of force melodious tear. S .10 Begin * This poem was made upon the unfortunate and untimely death of Mr. Edward King, fon of Sir John King Secretary for Ireland, a fellow- collegian and intimate friend of our author, who as he was going to vifu his relations in Ireland, was drown'd on the toth of Auguft 1637, and in the asth year of his age. The particular beauties of this charm- ins pafloral are too linking to need much defcanting upon ; but what gives the greatell grace to the whole is that natural and agreeable wild- nefs and irregularity which runs quite through it, than which nothing could be better fuited to exprefs the warm affeCtion which Milton had for his friend, and the extreme grief he was in for the lofs of him. Grief it eloquent, but not formal. NEWTON, and TRYEas
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