Classic Poem

XXXI.

But blest, O more than doubly blest be He !
Let Honour crown him and eternal Rest,
Whose Bosom, the sweet Fount of Charity,
Flows out to noursle Innocence distrest.
His Ear is open to the Widows cries,
His Hand the Orphan's Cheek of Sorrow drys;
Like Mercy's self he looks on Want with Pity's Eyes.

XXXII.

In this blest Season, pregnant with Delight,
Ne may the boading Owl with Screeches wound
The solemn Silence of the quiet Night,
Ne croaking Raven, with unhallow'd Sound,
Ne damner! Ghost affray with deadly Yell
The waking Lover, rais'd by mighty Spell,
To pale the Stars, till Hesper shine it back to Hell.

XXXIII.

Ne Witches rifle Gibbets, by the Moon,
(With Horror winking, trembling all with with Fear)
Of many a clinking Chain, and canker'd Bone:
Nor Imp in visionary Shape appear,
To blast the thriving Verdure of the Plain;
Ne let Hobgoblin , ne the Ponk , profane
With shadowy Glare the Light, and mad the bursting Brain.

XXXIV.

Yet Fairy-Elves (so ancient Custom's will)
The green-gown'd Fairy Elves , by starry Sheen,
May gambol or in Valley or on Hill,
And leave their Footsteps on the circled Green.
Full lightly trip it, dapper Mab , around;
Full featly, Ob'ron , Thou, o'er Grass-turf bound:
Mab brushes off no Dew-drops, Ob'ron prints no ground.

XXXV.

Ne bloody Rumours violate the Ear,
Of City's sack'd, and Kingdoms desolate,
With Plague or Sword, with pestilence or War;
Ne rueful Murder stain thy aera-date;
Ne shameless Calumny, for fell Despight,
The foulest Fiend that e'er blasphem'd the Light,
At lovely Lady rail, nor grin at courteous Knight.