In solemn troops, and sweet societies,
That sing, and singing in their glory move, 180
[And wipe the tears forever from his eyes].
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
[Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore],
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 185
Thus sang the [uncouth] swain to the oaks and rills,
While [the still morn went out with sandals gray]:
He touched the tender stops of [various quills],