This net was twisted by the sisters three; Which, when once cast o'er hardened wretch, too late Repentance comes; replevy cannot be From the strong iron grasp of vengeful destiny. 33. He came, the bard, a little druid wight, He crept along, unpromising of mien. Bright as the children of yon azure sheen! 34. "Come," quoth the knight, "a voice has reached. mine ear: The demon Indolence threats overflow To all that to mankind is good and dear: O'erturn his bowers, and lay his castle low. Those men, those wretched men! who will be slaves, Must drink a bitter wrathful cup of woe: But some there be, thy song, as from their graves, Shall raise." Thrice happy he! who without rigour saves. 35. Issuing forth, the knight bestrode his steed, Of ardent bay, and on whose front a star Shone blazing bright; sprung from the generous breed That whirl of active day the rapid car, He pranced along, disdaining gate or bar. Meantime, the bard on milk-white palfrey rode; And much they moralized as thus yfere they yode. 36. They talked of virtue, and of human bliss. What else so fit for man to settle well? And still their long researches met in this, This Truth of Truths, which nothing can refel: "From virtue's fount the purest joys outwell, Sweet rills of thought that cheer the conscious soul; While vice pours forth the troubled streams of hell, The which, howe'er disguised, at last with dole Will through the tortured breast their fiery torrent roll." 37. At length it dawned, that fatal valley gay, O'er which high wood-crowned hills their summits rear: On the cool height awhile our palmers stay, And spite even of themselves their senses cheer; Then to the wizard's wonne their steps they steer. Like a green isle, it broad beneath them spread, With gardens round, and wandering currents clear, And tufted groves to shade the meadow-bed, Sweet airs and song; and without hurry all seemed glad. 38. "As God shall judge me, knight! we must forgive," The half-enraptured Philomelus cried, "The frail good man deluded here to live, Come, let us those we can, to real bliss entice." 39. Ay, sicker," quoth the knight, "All flesh is frail, To pleasant sin and joyous dalliance bent; But let not brutish vice of this avail, From mercy's self she got her sacred glaive : 40. Thus, holding high discourse, they came to where |