What sudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook
This is he
To whom our vows and wishes bend
Here our solemn search hath end
Fame that his high worth to raise
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse
Less then half we find expressed
Envy bid conceal the rest
Mark what radiant state he spreads
In circle round his shining throne
Shooting his beams like silver threads
This is she alone
Sitting like a Goddess bright
In the center of his light
Might she the wise Leto be
Or the towered Cybele
Mother of a hundred gods
Juno dare's not give her odds
A deity so unparalleled?
As they come forward
The genius of the wood appears
And turning toward them, speaks
Stay gentle, for though in this disguise
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often sung
Divine Alpheus, who by secret lock
Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse
And ye the breathing roses of the wood
Fair silver nymphs as great and good
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honour and devotion meant
To the great mistress of your princely shrine
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine
I will assay, her worth to celebrate
And so attend ye toward her glittering state
Where ye may all that are of noble stem
Approach, and kiss her sacred vestures hem
O're the smooth enameld green
Where no print of step hath been
Follow me as I sing
And touch the warbled string
Under the shady roof
Of branching elm star-proof
Follow me
I will bring you where she sits
Clad in splendor as befits
Her deity
Such a rural queen
All Arcadia hath not seen
Trip no more in twilight ranks
Here ye shall have greater grace
To serve the lady of this place
Though Syrinx your Pans Mistress were
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linckèd sweetness long drawn out
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning
The melting voice through mazes running
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony
That Orpheus self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear
Such streins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regained Eurydice
These delights, if thou canst give
Mirth with thee, I mean to live
All Arcadia hath not seen
