Canto VI describes the Intellect as "The Islands Prince" and anatomizes his "Counsellors" (the five senses) and the "three pillars of state" (Fancie, Understanding, and Common Sense).
In the fifth stanza Phineas Fletcher announces that Virgil and Spenser are the objects of his emulation: "Two shepherds most I love with just adoring; | That Mantuan swain, who chang'd his slender reed | To trumpets martiall voice, and warres loud roaring, | From Corydon to Turnus derring-deed; | And next our home-bred Colins sweetest firing; | Their steps not following close, but farre admiring: | To lackey one of these is all my prides aspiring."
Robert Anderson: "After describing the body, he proceeds to personify the passions and intellectual faculties. Here fatigued attention is not merely relieved, but fascinated and enraptured; and notwithstanding his figures, in many instances, are too arbitrary and fantastic in their habiliments, often disproportioned and overdone, sometimes lost in a superfluity of glaring colours, and the several characters by no means sufficiently kept apart; yet, amidst such a profusion of images, many are distinguished by a boldness of outline, a majesty of manner, a brilliancy of colouring, a distinctness and propriety of attribute, and an air of life, that rarely mark our modern productions, and that rival, if not surpass, every thing of the kind, even in Spenser, from whom he caught his inspiration" British Poets (1795) 4:379.
Edmund Gosse: "It is a pity that the physiology presses in so early in the poem, for the most beautiful part is yet to come. With canto six, the intellectual and moral qualities pass under consideration, and in particular we are introduced to the will, as fair Violetta, and to that 'royal damsel and faithful counsellor' Synteresis, the conscience" The Jacobean Poets (1894) 148.
Herbert E. Cory: "The island's queen is Voletta, the Will, more beautiful than Gloriana, but often caught in the toils of vice and thereby causing her husband, Intellect, sad wars and misfortunes. Synteresis, Conscience, is her faithful counsellor. When Voletta disregards this attendant's warnings, a 'sad-fair Repentance' holds her fainting. Just now she is prostrated with grief over a recent error and the Vices are marshalling, inspired with a new hope of razing the Castle of the Intellect" "Spenser, the Fletchers, and Milton" UCPMP 2 (1912) 322.
The houres had now unlockt the gate of day,
When fair Aurora leaves her frosty bed,
Hasting with youthfull Cephalus to play,
Unmaskt her face, and rosie beauties spread:
Tithonus silver age was much despis'd.
Ah! who in love that cruel law devis'd,
That old love's little worth, and new too highly priz'd?
The gentle shepherds on an hillock plac'd,
(Whose shadie head a beechie garland crown'd)
View'd all their flocks that on the pastures graz'd:
Then down they sit, while Thenot 'gins the round;
Thenot! was never fairer boy among
The gentle lads, that in the Muses throng
By Chamus yellow streams learn tune their pipe and song.
See, Thirsil, see the shepherds expectation;
Why then, (ah!) why sitt'st thou so silent there?
We long to know that Islands happy nation:
Oh! do not leave thy Isle unpeopled here.
Tell us who brought, and whence these colonies;
Who is their King, what foes, and what allies;
What laws maintain their peace, what warres and victories.
Thenot, my deare, that simple fisher-swain,
Whose little boat in some small river strayes;
Yet fondly lanches in the swelling main,
Soon, yet too late, repents his foolish playes.
How dare I then forsake my well-set bounds,
Whose new-cut pipe as yet but harshly sounds?
A narrow compasse best my ungrown Muse impounds.
Two shepherds most I love with just adoring;
That Mantuan swain, who chang'd his slender reed
To trumpets martiall voice, and warres loud roaring,
From Corydon to Turnus derring-deed;
And next our home-bred Colins sweetest firing;
Their steps not following close, but farre admiring:
To lackey one of these is all my prides aspiring.
Then you my peers, whose quiet expectation
Seemeth my backward tale would fain invite;
Deigne gently heare this purple Islands nation,
A people never seen, yet still in sight;
Our daily guests, and natives, yet unknown;
Our servants born, but now commanders grown;
Our friends, and enemies; aliens, yet still our own.
Not like those Heroes, who in better times
This happy Island first inhabited
In joy and peace; when no rebellious crimes
That God-like nation yet dispeop'led:
Those claim'd their birth from that eternal Light,
Held th' Isle, and rul'd it in their fathers right,
And in their faces bore their parents image bright.
For when the Isle that main would fond forsake,
In which at first it found a happy place,
And deep was plung'd in that dead hellish lake;
Back to their father flew this heav'nly race,
And left the Isle forlorn, and desolate;
That now with fear, and wishes all too late,
Sought in that blackest wave to hide his blacker fate.
How shall a worm, on dust that crawls and feeds,
Climbe to th' empyreall court, where these states reign,
And there take view of what heav'ns self exceeds?
The Sunne lesse starres, these lights the Sunne distain:
Their beams divine, and beauties do excell
What here on earth, in aire, or heav'n do dwell:
Such never eye yet saw, such never tongue can tell.
Soon as these Saints the treach'rous Isle forsook,
Rusht in a false, foul, fiend-like companie,
And every fort, and every castle took;
All to this rabble yeeld the soveraigntie:
The goodly temples which those Heroes plac't,
By this foul rout were utterly defac't,
And all their fences strong, and all their bulwarks raz'd.
So where the neatest Badger most abides,
Deep in the earth she frames her prettie cell,
And into halls and closulets divides:
But when the stinking fox with loathsome smell
Infects her pleasant cave, the cleanly beast
So hates her inmate and rank-smelling guest,
That farre away she flies, and leaves her loathed nest.
But when those Graces (at their fathers throne
Arriv'd) in heav'ns high Court to Justice plain'd,
How they were wrong'd, and forced from their own,
And what foul people in their dwellings reign'd;
How th' earth much waxt in ill, much wan'd in good,
So full-ripe vice, how blasted vertues bud,
Begging such vicious weeds might sink in vengefull floud:
Forth stept the just Dicaea, full of rage;
(The first-born daughter of th' Almighty King)
Ah sacred maid, thy kindled ire asswage;
Who dare abide thy dreadfull thundering?
Soon as her voice but Father onely spake,
The faultlesse heav'ns, like leaves in Autumne, shake;
And all that glorious throng with horrid palsies quake.
Heard you not late, with what loud trumpet sound
Her breath awak'd her fathers sleeping ire?
The heav'nly armies flam'd, earth shook, heav'n frown'd,
And heav'ns dread King call'd for his three-forkt fire.
Heark how the powerfull words strike through the eare;
The frighted sense shoots up the staring hair,
And shakes the trembling soul with fright and shudd'ring fear.
So have I seen the earth strong windes detaining
In prison close; they scorning to be under
Her dull subjection, and her power disdaining,
With horrid struglings tear their bonds in sunder:
Mean while the wounded earth, that forc'd their stay,
With terrour reels, the hils runne farre away;
And frighted world fears hell breaks out upon the day.
But see how 'twixt her sister and her sire,
Soft-hearted Mercy sweetly interposing,
Settles her panting breast against his fire,
Pleading for grace, and chains of death unloosing:
Heark, from her lips the melting hony flowes;
The striking Thunderer recals his blowes,
And every armed souldier down his weapon throwes.
So when the day, wrapt in a cloudie night,
Puts out the Sunne, anon the rattling hail
On earth poures down his shot with fell despight:
His powder spent, the Sunne puts off his vail,
And fair his flaming beauties now unsteeps;
The plough-man from his bushes gladly peeps,
And hidden traveller out of his covert creeps.
Ah fairest maid, best essence of thy father,
Equall unto thy never equall'd sire;
How in low verse shall thy poore shepherd gather,
What all the world can ne're enough admire?
When thy sweet eyes sparkle in chearfull light,
The brightest day grows pale as leaden night,
And heav'ns bright burning eye loses his blinded sight.
Who then those sugred strains can understand,
Which calm'd thy father, and our desp'rate fears;
And charm'd the nimble lighthing in his hand,
That all unwares it dropt in melting tears?
Then thou deare swain, thy heav'nly load unfraught;
For she her self hath thee her speeches taught;
So neare her heav'n they be, so farre from humane thought.
But let my lighter skiffe return again
Unto that little Isle which late it left,
Nor dare to enter in that boundlesse main,
Or tell the nation from this Island reft;
But sing that civil strife, and home dissension
'Twixt two strong factions with like fierce contention;
Where never peace is heard, nor ever peaces mention.
For that foul rout, which from the Stygian brook
(Where first they dwelt in midst of death and night)
By force the left and emptie Island took,
Claim hence full conquest, and possessions right:
But that fair band, which Mercie sent anew,
The ashes of that first heroick crue,
From their forefathers claim their right, and Islands due.
In their fair look their parents grace appeares,
Yet their renowned sires were much more glorious;
For what decaies not with decaying yeares?
All night, and all the day, with toil laborious,
(In losse and conquest angrie) fresh they fight:
Nor can the other cease or day or night,
While th' Isle is doubly rent with endlesse warre and fright.
As when the Britain and Iberian fleet
With resolute and fearlesse expectation
On trembling seas with equall fury meet,
The shore resounds with diverse acclamation;
Till now at length Spains firie Dons 'gin shrink:
Down with their ships, hope, life, and courage sink:
Courage, life, hope, and ships the gaping surges drink.
But who (alas!) shall teach my ruder breast
The names and deeds of these heroick Kings?
Or downy Muse, which now but left the nest,
Mount from her bush to heav'n with new-born wings?
Thou sacred maid, which from fair Palestine
Through all the world hast spread thy brightest shine
Kindle thy shepherd-swain with thy light flaming eyn.
Sacred Thespio, which in Sinaies grove
First took'st thy being and immortall breath,
And vaunt'st thy off-spring from the highest Jove,
Yet deign'dst to dwell with mortalls here beneath,
With vilest earth, and men more vile residing;
Come holy Virgin in my bosome sliding,
With thy glad Angel light my blindfold footsteps guiding.
And thou dread Spirit, which at first didst spread
On those dark waters thy all-opening light;
Thou who of late (of thy great bounty head)
This nest of hellish fogges and Stygian night
With thy bright orient Sunne hast fair renew'd,
And with unwonted day hast it endu'd,
Which late both day and thee, and most it self eschew'd:
Dread Spirit, do thou those severall bands unfold,
Both which thou sent'st a needfull supplement
To this lost Isle, and which with courage bold
Hourely assail thy rightfull regiment;
And with strong hand oppresse and keep them under:
Raise now my humble vein to lofty thunder,
That heav'n and earth may sound, resound thy praises wonder.
The Islands Prince, of frame more then celestiall,
Is rightly call'd th' all-seeing Intellect;
All glorious bright, such nothing is terrestriall;
Whose Sun-like face, and most divine aspect
No humane sight may ever hope descrie:
For when himself on's self reflects his eye,
Dull and amaz'd he stands at so bright majestie.
Look as the Sunne, whose ray and searching light
Here, there, and every where it self displayes,
No nook or corner flies his piercing sight;
Yet on himself when he reflects his rayes,
Soon back he flings the too bold vent'ring gleam;
Down to the earth the flames all broken stream:
Such is this famous Prince, such his unpierced beam.
His strangest body is not bodily,
But matter without matter; never fill'd,
Nor filling; though within his compasse high
All heav'n and earth, and all in both are held;
Yet thousand thousand heav'ns he could contain,
And still as empty as at first remain;
And when he takes in most, readi'st to take again.
Though travelling all places, changing none:
Bid him soar up to heav'n, and thence down throwing
The centre search, and Dis dark realm; he's gone,
Returns, arrives, before thou saw'st him going:
And while his weary kingdome safely sleeps,
All restlesse night he watch and warding keeps,
Never his carefull head on resting pillow steeps.
In every quarter of this blessed Isle
Himself both present is, and President;
Nor once retires, (ah happy realm the while,
That by no Officers lewd lavishment,
With greedie lust, and wrong consumed art!)
He all in all, and all in every part,
Does share to each his due, and equall dole impart.
He knows nor death, nor yeares, nor feeble age;
But as his time, his strength and vigour grows:
And when his kingdome by intestine rage
Lies broke and wasted, open to his foes,
And batter'd sconce now flat and even lies;
Sooner then thought to that great Judge he flies,
Who weighs him just reward of good, or injuries.
For he the Judges Viceroy here is plac't;
Where if he live, as knowing he may die,
He never dies, but with fresh pleasures grac't,
Bathes his crown'd head in soft eternitie;
Where thousand joyes, and pleasures ever new,
And blessings thicker then the morning dew,
With endlesse sweets rain down on that immortall crue.
There golden starres set in the crystall snow;
There daintie joyes laugh at white-headed caring:
There day no night, delight no end shall know;
Sweets without surfet, fulnesse without sparing,
And by its spending growing happinesse:
There God himself in glories lavishnesse
Diffus'd in all, to all, is all full blessednesse.
But if he here neglect his Masters law,
And with those traitours 'gainst his Lord rebells;
Down to the deeps ten thousand fiends him draw,
Deeps, where night, death, despair and horrour dwells;
And in worst ills, still worse expecting fears:
Where fell despite for spite his bowels tears,
And still increasing grief, and torment never wears.
Prayers there are idle, death is woo'd in vain;
In midst of death poore wretches long to die:
Night without day or rest, still doubling pain;
Woes spending still, yet still their end lesse nigh:
The soul there restlesse, helplesse, hopelesse lies;
The body frying roars, and roaring fries:
There's life that never lives, there's death that never dies.
Hence while unsetled here he fighting reignes,
Shut in a Tower where thousand enemies
Assault the fort, with wary care and pains
He guards all entrance, and by divers spies
Searches into his foes and friends designes:
For most he fears his subjects wavering mindes.
This Tower then onely falls, when treason undermines.
Therefore while yet he lurks in earthly tent,
Disguis'd in worthlesse robes and poore attire,
Trie we to view his glories wonderment,
And get a sight of what we so admire:
For when away from this sad place he flies,
And in the skies abides, more bright then skies,
Too glorious is his sight for our dimme mortall eyes.
So curl'd-head Thetis, waters feared Queen,
But bound in cauls of sand, yeelds not to sight;
And planets glorious King may best be seen,
When some thinne cloud dimmes his too piercing light,
And neither none, nor all his face discloses:
For when his bright eye full our eye opposes,
None gains his glorious sight, but his own sight he loses.
Within the Castle sit eight Counsellers,
That help him in this tent to govern well:
Each in his room a severall office bears;
Three of his inmost private counsell deal
In great affairs: five of lesse dignitie
Have outward Courts, and in all actions prie,
But still referre the doom to Courts more fit and high.
Those five fair brethren which I sung of late,
For their just number call'd the Pemptarchie;
The other three, three pillars of the state:
The first in midst of that high Tower doth lie,
(The chiefest mansion of this glorious King)
The Judge and Arbiter of every thing,
Which those five brethrens poasts in to his office bring.
Of middle yeares, and seemly personage,
Father of laws, the rule of wrong and right;
Fountain of judgement, therefore wondrous sage,
Discreet, and wise, of quick and nimble sight:
Not those seven Sages might him parallell,
Nor he whom Pythian Maid did whilome tell
To be the wisest man that then on earth did dwell.
As Neptunes cestern sucks in tribute tides
(Yet never full) which every chanel brings,
And thirstie drinks, and drinking thirstie bides;
For by some hidden way back to the springs
It sends the streams in erring conduits spread,
Which with a circling dutie still are led;
So ever feeding them, is by them ever fed:
Ev'n so the first of these three Counsellers
Gives to the five the power of all-descrying;
Which back to him with mutuall dutie bears
All their informings, and the causes trying:
For through strait waies the nimble Poast ascends
Unto his hall; there up his message sends,
Which to the next well scann'd he straightway recommends.
The next that in the Castles front is plac't,
Phantastes hight; his yeares are fresh and green,
His visage old, his face too much defac't
With ashes pale, his eyes deep sunken been
With often thoughts, and never slackt intention:
Yet he the fount of speedy apprehension,
Father of wit, the well of arts, and quick invention.
But in his private thoughts and busy brain
Thousand thinne forms, and idle fancies flit;
The three-shap't Sphinx, and direfull Harpyes train,
Which in the world had never being yet:
Oft dreams of fire and water, loose delight;
And oft arrested by some ghastly sprite,
Nor can he think, nor speak, nor move for great affright.
Phantastes from the first all shapes deriving,
In new abiliments can quickly dight;
Of all materiall and grosse parts depriving,
Fits them unto the noble Princes sight;
Which soon as he hath view'd with searching eye,
He straight commits them to his Treasurie,
Which old Eumnestes keeps, Father of memorie.
Eumnestes old, who in his living screen
(His mindefull breast) the rolls and records bears
Of all the deeds, and men, which he hath seen,
And keeps lockt up in faithfull Registers:
Well he recalls Nimrods first tyrannie,
And Babels pride daring the lofty skie;
Well he recalls the earths twice-growing infancie.
Therefore his body weak, his eyes halfblinde,
But minde more fresh, and strong; (ah better fate!)
And as his carcase, so his house declin'd;
Yet were the walls of firm and able state:
Onely on him a nimble Page attends,
Who when for ought the aged Grandsire sends,
With swift, yet backward steps, his helping aidance lends.
But let my song passe from these worthy Sages
Unto this Islands highest Soveraigne,
And those hard warres which all the yeare he wages:
For these three late a gentle shepherd-swain
Most sweetly sung, as he before had seen
In Alma's house: his memorie yet green
Lives in his well-tun'd songs, whose leaves immortall been.
Nor can I guesse, whether his Muse divine
Or gives to those, or takes from them his grace;
Therefore Eumnestes in his lasting shrine
Hath justly him enroll'd in second place:
Next to our Mantuan poet doth he rest;
There shall our Colin live for ever blest,
Spite of those thousand spites, which living him opprest.
The Prince his time in double office spends:
For first those forms and fancies he admits,
Which to his Court busie Phantastes sends,
And for the easier discerning fits:
For shedding round about his sparkling light,
He cleares their duskie shades, and cloudy night,
Producing like himself their shapes all shining bright.
As when the Sunne restores the glitt'ring day,
The world late cloath'd in nights black livery,
Doth now a thousand colours fair display,
And paints it self in choice varietie,
Which late one colour hid, the eye deceiving;
All so this Prince those shapes obscure receiving,
With his suffused light makes ready to conceiving.
This first is call'd the Active Facultie,
Which to an higher power the object leaves:
That takes it in it self, and cunningly
Changing it self, the object soon perceives:
For straight it self in self same shape adorning,
Becomes the same with quick and strange transforming;
So is all things it self, to all it self conforming.
Thus when the eye through Visus jettie ports
Lets in the wandring shapes, the crystall strange
Quickly it self to every sort consorts,
So is what e're it sees by wondrous change:
Thrice happy then, when on that mirrour bright
He ever fastens his unmoved sight,
So is what there he views; divine, full, glorious light.
Soon as the Prince these forms hath clearely seen,
Parting the false from true, the wrong from right,
He straight presents them to his beauteous Queen,
Whose Courts are lower, yet of equall might;
Voletta fair, who with him lives, and reignes;
Whom neither man, nor fiend, nor God constrains:
Oft good, oft ill, oft both; yet ever free remains.
Not that great Soveraigne of the Fayrie land,
Whom late our Colin hath eternized,
(Though Graces decking her with plenteous hand,
Themselves of grace have all unfurnished;
Though in her breast she Vertues temple bare,
The fairest temple of a guest so fair)
Not that great Glorians self with this might e're compare.
Her radiant beautie, daz'ling mortall eye,
Strikes blinde the daring sense; her sparkling face
Her husbands self now cannot well descrie:
With such strange brightnesse, such immortall grace,
Hath that great parent in her cradle made,
That Cynthia's silver cheek would quickly fade,
And light it self to her would seem a painted shade.
But (ah!) entic't by her own worth and pride,
She stain'd her beautie with most loathsome spot;
Her Lords fixt law, and spouses light deni'd,
So fill'd her spouse and self with leprous blot:
And now all dark is their first morning ray.
What verse might then their former light display,
When yet their darkest night outshines the brightest day?
On her a royall damsell still attends,
And faithfull Counseller, Synteresis:
For though Voletta ever good intends,
Yet by fair ills she oft deceived is;
By ills so fairly drest with cunning slight,
That Vertues self they well may seem to sight,
But that bright Vertues self oft seems not half so bright.
Therefore Synteresis of nimble sight,
Oft helps her doubtfull hand, and erring eye;
Els mought she ever stumbling in this night
Fall down as deep as deepest Tartarie:
Nay thence a sad-fair maid, Repentance, rears,
And in her arms her fainting Lady bears,
Washing her often stains with ever-falling tears.
Thereto she addes a water soveraigne,
Of wondrous force, and skilfull composition:
For first she pricks the heart in tender vein,
Then from those precious drops, and deep contrition,
With lips confession, and with pickled cries,
Still'd in a broken spirit, sad vapours rise,
Exhal'd by sacred fires, and drop through melting eyes.
These cordiall drops, these spirit-healing balms
Cure all her sinfull bruises, cleare her eyes,
Unlock her ears, recover fainting qualms:
And now grown fresh and strong, she makes her rise,
And glasse of unmaskt sinne she bright displaies,
Whereby she sees, loathes, mends her former waies;
So soon repairs her light, trebling her new-born raies.
But (ah!) why do we (simple as we been)
With curious labour, dimme and vailed sight,
Prie in the nature of this King and Queen,
Groping in darknesse for so cleare a light?
A light which once could not be thought or told,
But now with blackest clouds is thick enroll'd,
Prest down in captive chains, and pent in earthly mold.
Rather lament we this their wretched fate,
(Ah wretched fate, and fatal wretchednesse!)
Unlike those former dayes, and first estate,
When he espous'd with melting happinesse
To fair Voletta, both their lights conspiring,
He saw what e're was fit for her requiring,
And she to his cleare sight would temper her desiring.
When both replenisht with celestiall light,
All coming evils could foresee and flie;
When both with clearest eye, and perfect sight
Could every natures difference descrie:
Whose pictures now they scarcely see with pain,
Obscure and dark, like to those shadows vain,
Which thinne and emptie glide along Avernus plain.
The flowres that frighted with sharp winters dread,
Retire into their mother Tellus wombe,
Yet in the Spring in troups new mustered
Peep out again from their unfrozen tombe:
The early Violet will fresh arise,
And spreading his flour'd purple to the skies,
Boldly the little elf the winters spite defies.
The hedge green Sattin pinkt and cut arayes,
The Heliotrope to cloth of gold aspires;
In hundred-colour'd silks the Tulip playes,
Th' Imperiall flower his neck with pearl attires,
The Lily high her silver Grogram reares,
The Pansie her wrought Velvet garment bears;
The red Rose Scarlet, and the Provence Damask wears.
How falls it then that such an heav'nly light,
As this great Kings, should sink so wondrous low,
That scarce he can suspect his former height?
Can one eclipse so dark his shining brow,
And steal away his beautie glittering fair?
One onely blot so great a light empair,
That never could he hope his waning to repair?
Ah! never could he hope once to repair
So great a wane, should not that new-born Sun
Adopt him both his brother and his heir;
Who through base life, and death, and hell would run,
To seat him in his lost, now surer cell.
That he may mount to heav'n, he sunk to hell;
That he might live, he di'd; that he might rise, he fell.
A perfect Virgin breeds and bears a Sonne,
Th' immortall father of his mortall mother;
Earth, heav'n, flesh, spirit, man, God, are met in one:
His younger brothers childe, his childrens brother,
Eternitie, who yet was born and di'd;
His own creatour, earths scorn, heavens pride;
Who th' deitie inflesht, and mans flesh deifi'd.
Thou uncreated Sunne, heav'ns glory bright,
Whom we with knees and hearts low bent adore;
At rising, perfect, and now falling, light;
Ah what reward, what thanks shall we restore?
Thou wretched wast, that we might happy be:
Oh all the good we hope, and all we see,
That we thee know and love, comes from thy love, and thee.
Receive, which we can onely back return,
(Yet that we may return, thou first must give)
A heart, which fain would smoke, which fain would burn
In praise; for thee, to thee would onely live:
And thou (who sat'st in night to give us day)
Light and enflame us with thy glorious ray,
That we may back reflect, and borrow'd light repay.
So we beholding with immortall eye
The glorious picture of thy heav'nly face,
In his first beautie and true Majestie,
May shake from our dull souls these fetters base;
And mounting up to that bright crystal sphere,
Whence thou strik'st all the world with shudd'ring fear,
May not be held by earth, nor hold vile earth so deare.
Then should thy shepherd (poorest shepherd) sing
A thousand Canto's in thy heav'nly praise,
And rouze his flagging Muse, and flutt'ring wing,
To chant thy wonders in immortall laies,
(Which once thou wrought'st, when Nilus slimie shore,
Or Fordans banks thy mighty hand adore)
Thy judgements, and thy mercies; but thy mercies more.
But see, the stealing night with softly pace,
To flie the Western Sunne, creeps up the East;
Cold Hesper 'gins unmask his evening face,
And calls the winking starres from drouzie rest:
Home then my lambes; the falling drops eschew:
To morrow shall ye feast in pastures new,
And with the rising Sunne banquet on pearled dew.
[Boas (1909) 2:69-86]