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My Soule, sad Soule, now sommon al thy Powres

My Soule , sad Soule , now sommon al thy Povvres
To seeke out Misteries past finding out!
But first, inuoke the Heau'ns to stream their Showres
Of Diuine Graces on thee, to disrout
The Clouds of darknesse, which ingirt thy Towres
And that vncompast Round thou go'st about!
If trauelling by Night we pray for Day,
Now must we going [blind] a wailesse Way
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Rape of Proserpine - Book 2: Preface

PREFACE

When Orpheus sought repose and, lulling his song to sleep, had long laid aside his neglected task, the Nymphs complained that their joy had been reft from them and the sad rivers mourned the loss of his tuneful lays. Nature's savagery returned and the heifer in terror of the lion looked in vain for help from the now voiceless lyre. The rugged mountains lamented his silence and the woods that had so often followed his Thracian lute.
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Preface

After years of sloth my Muse, as if startled from long slumber, rejoices to sing a Roman song to Roman ears. Once more the same halls bring the gathering I longed for, and Apollo's temple echoes to the voice of a familiar bard. 'Twas here I sang of the consular fasces and of the winning back of Libya and here must I sing of the war that overthrew the Getae.
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