The Lady lost in the Wood

From “Comus” THE LADY.—This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, My best guide now; methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe Stirs up amongst the loose, unlettered hinds, When for their teeming flocks and granges full In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, And thank the gods amiss. I should be loath To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence Of such late wassailers; yet O, where else Shall I inform my unacquainted feet In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? My brothers, when they saw me wearied out With this long way, resolving here to lodge Under the spreading favor of these pines, Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket side To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit As the kind, hospitable woods provide. They left me then, when the gray-hooded even, Like a sad votarist in palmer’s weed, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phœbus’ wain. But where they are, and why they came not back, Is now the labor of my thoughts: ’t is likeliest They had engaged their wandering steps too far, And envious darkness, ere they could return, Had stole them from me; else, O thievish night, Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, That nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps With everlasting oil, to give due light To the misled and lonely traveller? This is the place, as well as I may guess, Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear, Yet naught but single darkness do I find. What might this be? A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues, that syllable men’s names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startle well, but not astound The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By a strong-siding champion, Conscience. O welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, And thou unblemished form of Chastity; I see you visibly, and now believe That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, To keep my life and honor unassailed. Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night? I did not err, there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night, And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. I cannot halloo to my brothers; but Such noise as I can make, to be heard farthest, I ’ll venture, for my new-enlivened spirits Prompt me; and they perhaps are not far off.