Arcades Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCD D EFGEFHH IJKIHH ILILHHFMIIHH HI IINNIIHHHHOOMHHHLPGG QQMMHHIIHHRRHHIIMHII HHMHMMGGIIHHSSHHTT D UVWWXXHIIHUU D GIGIGIIIIIGGUU

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager ofA
Darby at Harefield by som Noble persons of her Family whoB
appear on the Scene in pastoral habit moving toward the seatC
of State with this SongD
-
I SONGD
-
Look Nymphs and Shepherds lookE
What sudden blaze of majestyF
Is that which we from hence descryG
Too divine to be mistookE
This this is sheF
To whom our vows and wishes bendH
Heer our solemn search hath endH
-
Fame that her high worth to raiseI
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuseJ
We may justly now accuseK
Of detraction from her praiseI
Less then half we find exprestH
Envy bid conceal the restH
-
Mark what radiant state she spredsI
In circle round her shining throneL
Shooting her beams like silver thredsI
This this is she aloneL
Sitting like a Goddes brightH
In the center of her lightH
Might she the wise Latona beF
Or the towred CybeleM
Mother of a hunderd godsI
Juno dare's not give her oddsI
Who had thought this clime had heldH
A deity so unparalel'dH
-
As they com forward the genius of the Wood appears andH
turning toward them speaksI
-
GEN Stay gentle Swains for though in this disguiseI
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyesI
Of famous Arcady ye are and sprungN
Of that renowned flood so often sungN
Divine Alpheus who by secret sluseI
Stole under Seas to meet his ArethuseI
And ye the breathing Roses of the WoodH
Fair silver buskind Nymphs as great and goodH
I know this quest of yours and free intentH
Was all in honour and devotion mentH
To the great Mistres of yon princely shrineO
Whom with low reverence I adore as mineO
And with all helpful service will complyM
To further this nights glad solemnityH
And lead ye where ye may more neer beholdH
What shallow searching Fame hath left untoldH
Which I full oft amidst these shades aloneL
Have sate to wonder at and gaze uponP
For know by lot from Jove I am the powrG
Of this fair wood and live in Oak'n bowrG
To nurse the Saplings tall and curl the groveQ
With Ringlets quaint and wanton windings woveQ
And all my Plants I save from nightly illM
Of noisom winds and blasting vapours chillM
And from the Boughs brush off the evil dewH
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blewH
Or what the cross dire looking Planet smitesI
Or hurtfull Worm with canker'd venom bitesI
When Eev'ning gray doth rise I fetch my roundH
Over the mount and all this hallow'd groundH
And early ere the odorous breath of mornR
Awakes the slumbring leaves or tasseld hornR
Shakes the high thicket haste I all aboutH
Number my ranks and visit every sproutH
With puissant words and murmurs made to blessI
But els in deep of night when drowsinesI
Hath lockt up mortal sense then listen IM
To the celestial Sirens harmonyH
That sit upon the nine enfolded SphearsI
And sing to those that hold the vital shearsI
And turn the Adamantine spindle roundH
On which the fate of gods and men is woundH
Such sweet compulsion doth in musick lyM
To lull the daughters of NecessityH
And keep unsteddy Nature to her lawM
And the low world in measur'd motion drawM
After the heavenly tune which none can hearG
Of human mould with grosse unpurged earG
And yet such musick worthiest were to blazeI
The peerles height of her immortal praiseI
Whose lustre leads us and for her most fitH
If my inferior hand or voice could hitH
Inimitable sounds yet as we goS
What ere the skill of lesser gods can showS
I will assay her worth to celebrateH
And so attend ye toward her glittering stateH
Where ye may all that are of noble stemmT
Approach and kiss her sacred vestures hemmT
-
-
SONGD
-
O're the smooth enameld greenU
Where no print of step hath beenV
Follow me as I singW
And touch the warbled stringW
Under the shady roofX
Of branching Elm Star proofX
Follow meH
I will bring you where she sitsI
Clad in splendor as befitsI
Her deityH
Such a rural QueenU
All Arcadia hath not seenU
-
-
SONGD
-
Nymphs and Shepherds dance no moreG
By sandy Ladons Lillied banksI
On old Lycaeus or Cyllene hoarG
Trip no more in twilight ranksI
Though Erynanth your loss deploreG
A better soyl shall give ye thanksI
From the stony MaenalusI
Bring your Flocks and live with usI
Here ye shall have greater graceI
To serve the Lady of this placeI
Though Syrinx your Pans Mistres wereG
Yet Syrinx well might wait on herG
Such a rural QueenU
All Arcadia hath not seenU

John Milton



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