From “The Faërie Queene,” Book I. Canto I. HE, making speedy way through spersèd ayre, And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire, Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawning day doth never peepe, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred.* * * * * And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne. No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t’ annoy the wallèd towne, Might there be heard; but carelesse Quiet lyes Wrapt in eternall silence, farre from enimyes.
The Cave of Sleep
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