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Wide o'er this ample court's blank area, From whomsoe'er the villain takes in hand,

With all the lodges that thereto pertain'd Their joints unknit, their sinews melt apace,

No living creature could be seen to stray, As lithe * they grow as any willow wand,

While solitude and perfect silence reign'd, And of their varnish'd force remains no trace:

So that to think you dreamt you almost was con. So when a maiden fair, of modest grace,

strain'd. In all her buxom blooming May of charms,

XXX. Is seized in some losel's + hot embrace,

As when a shepherd of the Hebride isles * She waxeth very weakly as she warms,

Plac'd far amid the melancholy main, Then, sighing, yields her up to love's delicious harms. (Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles, XXIV.

Or that aërial beings sometimes deign

To stand embodied to our senses plain)
Wak'd from the crowd, slow from his bench arose Sees on the naked hill or valley low,
A comely full-spread porter, swoln with sleep,

The whilst in ocean Phæbus dips his wain,
His calm, broad, thoughtless, aspect breath'd repose,

A vast assembly moving to and fro, And in sweet torpor he was plunged deep,

Then all at once in air dissolves the wondrous show,
Ne could himself from ceaseless yawning keep;
While o'er his eyes the drowsy liquor ran,

Through which his half-wak'd soul would faintly peep, Ye gods of quiet, and of sleep profound !
Then taking back his black staff he call'd his man, Whose soft dominion o'er this Castle sways,
And rons'd himself as much as rouse himself he can.

And all the widely-silent places round,

Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays

What never yet was sung in mortal lays. The lad leap'd lightly at his master's call;

But how shall I attempt such arduous string, He was, to weet, † a little roguish page.

I who have spent my nights and nightly days Save sleep and play who minded nought at all,

In this soul-deadening place, loose loitering? Like most the untaught striplings of his age.

Ah! how shall I for this uprear my moulted wing? This boy kept each hand to disengage Garters and buckles, task for him unfit,

XXXII. But ill-becoming his grave personage,

Come on, my Muse! nor stoop to low despair, And which his portly paunch would not permit,

Thou imp of Jove! touch'd by celestial fire,
So this same limber page to all performed it.

Thou yet shalt sing of war and actions fair,

Which the bold sons of Britain will inspire;
Mean time the master porter wide display'd

Of ancient bards thou yet shalt sweep the lyre;

Thou yet shalt tread in tragic pall the stage,
Great store of caps, of slippers, and of gowns,

Paint loves enchanting woes, the hero's ire,
Wherewith he those who enter'd in array'd,
Loose as the breeze that plays along the downs,

The sage's calm, the patriot's noble rage,
And waves the summer woods when evening frowns.

Dashing corruption down through every worthless age. O fair undress! best dress! it checks no vein,

But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And heightens ease with grace. This done, right fain, The doors, that knew no shrill alarming bell,
Sir Porter sat him down, and turn'd to sleep again.

No cursed knocker ply'd by villain's hand,

Self-open'd into halls, where who can tell

What elegance and grandeur wide expand,
Thus easy rob’d they to the fountain sped,

The pride of Turkey and of Persia land? That in the middle of the court up-threw

"Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,

And coaches stretch'd around in seemly band,
A stream, high spouting from its liquid bed,
And falling back again in drizzly dew;

And endless pillows rise, to prop the head,
There each deep draughts, as deep he thirsted, drew.

So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed. It was a fountain of Nepenthe rare,

Whence, as Dan Homer sings, huge pleasaunce grew,
And sweet oblivion of vile earthly care ;

And every where huge cover'd tables stood,

With wines high-flavour'd, and rich viands crown'd; Fair gladsome waking thoughts, and joyous dreams

Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food

On the green bosom of this earth are found,

And all old Ocean genders in his round :
This rite perform'd, all inly pleas'd and still,

Some hand unseen these silently display'd, Withouten trump, was proclamation made :

Even undemanded, by a sigh or sound; "Ye sons of Indolence! do what you will,

You need but wish, and, instantly obey'd, And wander where you list, through hall or glade Fair rangʻd the dishes rose, and thick the glasses play'd. Be no man's pleasure for another staid !

Let each as likes him best his hours employ,

Here freedom reign'd without the least alloy ;
And curs'd be he who minds his neighbour's trade!
Here dwells kind Ease and unreproving Joy;

Nor gossip's tale, nor ancient maidens gall,
He little merits bliss who others can annoy."

Nor saintly spleen, durst murmur at our joy,

And with enveņom'd tongue our pleasures pall.

For why? there was but one great rule for all ;
Straight of these endless numbers, swarming round. To wit, that each should work his own desire,
As thick as idle motes in sunny ray,

And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it may fall, Not one eftsoonsø in view was to be found,

Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre, every man stroll’d off his own glad way;

And carol what, unbid, the Muses might inspire.

more fair.



To know.

1 Loose idle fellow.


* Those islands on the western coast of Scotland, called the Hebrides.


And verse, love, music, still the garland wore: The rooms with costly tapestry were hung,

When sleep was coy, the bard, in waiting there, Where was inwoven many a gentle tale,

Cheer'd the lone midnight with the Muse's lore, * Such as of old the rural poets sung,

Composing music bade his dreams be fair, Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale;

And music lent new gladness to the morning air. Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale,

Pour'd forth at large the sweetly-tutor'd heart,
Or, sighing tender passion, swelld the gale,

Near the pavilions where we slept still ran
And taught charm'd Echo to resound their smart,

Soft-tinkling streams, and dashing waters fell, While flocks, woods, streams, around, repose and

And sobbing breezės sigh’d, and oft began

(So work'd the wizard) wintry storms to swell,
peace impart.

As heaven and earth they would together mell:

At doors and windows, threat'ning seem'd to call Those pleas'd the most where, by a cunning hand,

The demons of the tempest, growling fell, Dispainted * was the patriarchal age,

Yet the least entrance found they none at all, What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee land,

Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy hall
And pastur'd on from verdant stage to stage,
Where fields and fountains fresh could best engage.

Toil was not then. Of nothing they took heed, And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,
But with wild beasts the sylvan war to wage,

Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace,
And o’er vast plains their herds and flocks to feed : O'er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams,
Blest sons of Nature they ! true Golden Age indeed! That play'd, in waving lights, from place to place,

And shed a roseate smile on Nature's face. Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls,

Not Titan's pencil e'er could so array,

So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal space;
Bade the gay gloom of vernal landscape rise,
Or Autumn's varied shades embrown the walls :

Ne could it e'er such melting forms display,
Now the black tempest strikes the astonish'd eyes

As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay. Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies;

XLV. The trembling sun now plays o'er ocean blue,

No, fair illusions ! artful phantoms, no! And now rude mountains frown amid the skies:

My Muse will not attempt your fairy-land: Whate'er Lorrain light touch'd with softening hue,

She has no colours that like you can glow,
Or savage Rosa dash'a, or learned Poussin drew.

To catch your vivid scenes too gross her hand.

But sure it is, was ne'er a subtler band
Each sound, too, here, to languishment inclin'd, Thán these same guileful angel-seeming sprights,
Lull'd the weak bosom, and induced ease;

Who thus in dreams, voluptuous, soft, and bland, Aërial music in the warbling wind,

Pour'd all th’ Arabian heaven upon our nights, At distance rising oft, by small degrees,

And bless'd them oft besides with more refin'd de. Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees

lights. It hung, and breath'd such soul-dissolving airs

As did, alas ! with soft perdition please :
Entangled deep in its enchanting snares,

They were in sooth a most enchanting train,
The listening heart forgot all duties and all cares.

Even feigning virtue; skilful to unite

With evil good, and strew with pleasure pain :

But for those fiends whom blood and broils delight A certain music, never known before,

Who hurl the wretch, as if to hell outright. Here lulld the pensive melancholy mind;

Down, down black gulfs, where sullen waters sleep, Full easily obtain'd. Behoves no more,

Or hold him clambering all the fearful night But side-long, to the gently-waving wind,

On beetling cliffs, or pent in ruins deep, To lay the well-tun'd instrument reclin'd,

They, till due time shall serve, were bid far hence to From which, with airy-flying fingers light,

keep. Beyond each mortal touch the most refin'd,

The god of winds drew sounds of deep delight,
Whence, with just cause, the barp of Æolus + it hight. From these foul demons shield the midnight gloom :

Ye guardian spirits! to whom man is dear,

Angels of fancy, and of love! be near,
Ah me! what hand can touch the string so fine?

And o'er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom:
Who up the lofty diapason roll

Evoke the sacred shades of Greece and Rome,
Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine, And let them virtue with a look impart;
Then let them down again into the soul ?

But chief awhile, O! lend us from the tomb
Now rising love they fann'd; now pleasing dole

Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart,'
They breath'd, in tender musings, throngh the heart: And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt woe the heart.
And now a graver sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands an hymn impart;

Wide warbling Nature, all, above the reach of Art. Or are you sportive ?—Bid the morn of youth

Rise to new light, and beam afresh the days

Of innocence, simplicity, and truth,
Such the gay splendour, the luxurious state,

To cares estrang'd, and manhood's thorny ways, Of caliphs-old who on the Tigris' shore,

What transport, to retrace our boyish plays, In mighty Bagdat, populous and great,

Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supply'd, Held their bright conrt, where was of ladies store,

The woods, the mountains, and the warbling maze * Painted.

Of the wild brooks! But, fondly wand'ring wide, This is not an imagination of the Author, there being in My Muse! resume the task that yet doth thee abide. fact such an instrument, call Æolus's harp, 'which, when placed against a little rushing or current of air, produces the * The Arabian caliphs had poets among the officers of their effect here described.

court, whose office it was to do what is here mentioned.



With honourable ruffians in their hire, One great amusement of our household was,

Cause war to wage, and blood around to pour: In a huge crystal magic globe to spy

Of this sad work when each begins to tire, Still as you turn'd it, all things that do pass,

They sit them down just where they were before, Upon this ant-hill earth! where constantly

Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force re.

Of idle busy men the restless fry
Run bustling to and fro with foolish haste,

In search of pleasures vain that from them fly, To number up the thousands dwelling here,
Or, which obtain'd, the caitiffs dare not taste;

An useless were, and eke an endless task;
When nothing is enjoy'd, can there be greater waste? From kings, and those who at the helm appear,

To gipsies brown in summer glades who bask;

Yea, many a man, perdie, I could unmask,
Of Vanity the mirror this was call’d.

Whose desk and table make a solemn show, Here you a muck-worm of the town might see, With tape-ty'd trash, and suits of fools that ask At his dull desk, amid his ledgers stallid,

For place or pension laid in decent row; Ate up with carking care and penury,

But these I passen by, with nameless numbers moe. Most like to carcass parch'd on gallows-tree.

LVII. “A penny saved is a penny got;" Firm to this scoundrel maxim keepeth he,

Of all the gentle tenants of the place, Ne of its rigour will he bate a jot,

There was a man of special grave remark; Till it has quench'd his fire and banish'd his pot.

A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face,

Pensive, not sad; in thought involv'd, not dark ; LI.

As soot* this man could sing as morning lark, Straight from the filth of this low grab, behold! And teach the noblest morals of the heart; Comes flattering forth a gaudy spendthrift heir,

But these his talents were yburied + stark ; All glossy gay, enamell’d all with gold,

Of the fine stores he nothing could impart, The silly tenant of the summer air,

Which or boon Nature gave, or nature painting Art. In folly lost, of nothing takes he care;

Pimps, lawyers, stewards, harlots, flatterers vile,
And thieving tradesmen, him among them share;

To noontide shades, incontinent he ran,
His father's ghost from Limbo-like, the while,

Where purls the brooks with sleep-inviting sound; Sees this, which more damnation doth upon him

Or when Dan Sol to slope his wheels began,

Amid the broom he bask'd him on the ground, pile.

Where the wild thyme and camomoil are found : LII.

There would he linger, till the latest ray This globe portray'd the race of learned men

Of light sate trembling on the welkin's bound, Still at their books, and turning o'er the page

Then homewards through the twilight shadows stray,
Backwards and forwards : oft they snatch the pen, Sauntering and slow : so had he pass'd many a day.
As if inspir'd, and in a Thespian rage,
Then write, and blot, as would your ruth engage.

Why, authors ! all this scrawl and scribbling sore? Yet not in thonghtless slumbers were they past;
To lose the present, gain the future age,

For oft the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd
Praised to be when you can hear no more,

Beneath the sleeping embers, mounted fast,
And much enrich'd with fame when useless worldly | And all its native light anew reveal'd;

Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field,

And markt the clouds that drove before the wind,

T'en thousand glorious systems would he build, Then would a splendid city rise to view,

Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind; With carts, and cars, and coaches, roaring all :

But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind. Wide pour'd abroad behold the giddy crew, See how they dash along from wall to wall;

LX. At every door, hark how they thundering call!

With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk, Good Lord! what can this giddy rout excite?

(Profoundly silent, for they never spoke) Why, on each other with fell tooth to fall,

One shyer still, who quite detested talk: A neighbour's fortune, fame, or peace to blight,

Oft stung by spleen, at once away he broke, And make new tiresome parties for the coming night. To groves of pine and broad o'ershadowing oak; LIV.

There inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone, The puzzling sons of Party next appear'd,

And on himself his pensive fury wroke. In dark cabals and nightly juntos met,

Ne never utter'd word, save when first shone And now they whisper'd close, now shrugging reard

The glittering star of eve." Thank heaven! the day

is done."
Th' important shoulder; then, as if to get
New light, their twinkling eyes were inward set.

No sooner Lucifer* recalls affairs,
Than forth they various rush in mighty fret;

Here lurk'd a wretch who had not crept abroad
When, lo! push'd up to power, and crown'd their cares

For forty years, ne face of mortal seen; In

In chamber brooding like a loathly toad, comes another set, and kicketh them down stairs.

And supe his linen was not very clean.

Through secret loop-holes, that had practis'd been But what most shew'd the vanity of life,

Near to bis bed, his dinner vile he took ; Was to behold the nations all on fire,

Unkempti and rough, of squalid face and mien, In cruel broils engag’d, and deadly strife,

Our Castle's shame! whence from his filthy nook,

We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look. Most Christian kings, inflam'd by black desire,


* The morning star.

* Sweet,

1 Unadorned.

# Buried.

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The world forsaking with a calm disdain, One day there chaunc'd into these halls to rove Here laugh!d he careless in his easy seat: A joyous youth, who took you at first sight;

Here quaff'd, encircled with the joyous train, Him the wild wave of pleasure hither drove,

Oft moralizing sage ; his ditty sweet Before the sprightly tempest tossing light :

He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat. Certes, he was a most engaging wight,

Of social glee, and wit humane, though keen,

Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod,
Turning the night to day and day to night:
For him the merry bells had rung, I ween,

Of clerks good plenty here you mote* espy;
If in this nook of quiet bells had ever been.

A little, round, fat, oily man of God,

Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry:

He had a roguish twinkle in his eye,
Bat not even pleasure to excess is good :

And shone all glittering with ungodly dew, What most elates then sinks the soul as low,

If a tight damsel chaunc'd to trippen by ;
When spring-tide joy pours in with copious flood, Which, when observ'd, he shrunk into his mew,
The higher still th' exulting billows flow,

And straight would recollect his piety anew.
The farther back again they flagging go,
And leaves us grovelling on the dreary shore :

Taught by this son of Joy we found it so;

Nor be forgot a tribe, who minded naught Who, whilst he staid, kept in a gay uproar

(Old inmates of the place) but state-affairs ; Our madden'd Castle all, th' abode of sleep no more. They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought, LXIV.

And on their brow sat every nation's cares.

The world by them is parcelld out in shares, As when in prime of June a burnish'd ily,

When in the Hall of Smoke they congress hold, Sprung from the meads, o'er which he sweeps along,

And the sage berry sun-burnt Mocha bears Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky,

Has clear'd their inward eye; then, smoke-enroll’d, Tunes up amid these airy halls his song,

Their oracles break forth mysterious, as of old.
Soothing at first the gay.reposing throng ;
And oft be sips their bowl; or nearly drown'd,

He, thence recovering, drives their beds among,
And scares their tender sleep, with trump profound,

Here languid Beauty kept her pale-fac'd court:
Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round.

Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,

From every quarter hither made resort,

Where, from gross mortal care and business free, Another guest there was, of sense refin'd,

They lay, pour'd out in ease and luxury :
Who felt each worth, for every worth he had; Or should they a vain show of work assume,
Serene, yet warm; humane, yet firm his mind, Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?
As little touch'd as any man's with bad :

To knot, to twist, to range the vernal bloom,
Him through their inmost walks the Muses lad, But far is cast the distaff, spinning-wheel, and loom.
To him the sacred love of Nature lent,
And sometimes would he make our valley glad;

When as we found he would not here be pent, Their only labour was to kill the time;
To him the better sort this friendly message sent:

And labour dire it is, and weary woe:

They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,

Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go, “ Come, dwell with us, true son of Virtue! come;

Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow: But if, alas ! we cannot thee persuade

This soon too rude an exercise they find; To lie content beneath our peaceful dome,

Straight on the couch their limbs again they throw, Ne ever more to quit our quiet glade ;

Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclin'd, Yet when at last thy toils, but ill apaid, *

And court the vapoury god soft-breathing in the wind. Shall dead thy fire, and damp its heavenly spark, Thou wilt be glad to seek the rural shade,

LXXIII. There to indulge the Muse, and Nature mark :

Now must I mark the villainy we found;
We then a lodge for thee will rear in Hagley-Park.”

But, ah ! too late, as shall eftsoons be shown.

A place here was, deep, dreary, under-ground,
Here whilom + ligg'd th' Esopust of the age,

Where still our inmates, when unpleasing grown, But call'd by fame, in soul ypricked deep,

Diseas'd and loathsome, privily were thrown. A noble pride restor'd him to the stage,

Far from the light of heaven, they languish'd there, And rous'd him like a giant from his sleep.

Unpity'd, uttering many a bitter groan, Even from his slumbers we advantage reap :

For of these wretches taken was no care; With double force th' enliven'd scene he wakes,

Fierce fiends and hags of hell their only nurses were. Yet quits not Nature's bounds. He knows to keep

LXXIV. Each due decorum. Now the heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd sense th’ enlighten'd judg. Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest, ment takes.

To this dark den, where Sickness toss'd alway.

Here Lethargy, with deadly sleep oppress'd,

Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay,
A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems,

Heaving his sides, and snoring night and day; Who, || void of envy, guile, and lust of gain,

To stir him from his trance, it was not eath, On virtue still, and Nature's pleasing themes,

And his half-open'd eyne he shut straightway; Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain :

He led, I wot, the softest way to death,

And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the * Paid.

+ Ere-while, formerly. Mr. Quin, S Wounded.

breath. # This character of Mr. Thomson was written by Lord Lyttelton.

# Might.

Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound,
Soft-owoln and pale, here lay the Hydropsy :
Unwieldy man: with belly monstrous round,
For ever fed with watery supply;
For still he drank, and yet he still was dry.
And moping here did Hypochondria sit,
Mother of Spleen, in robes of various dye,
Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit,
And some her frantic deem'd, and some her deem'd
a wit.

A lady proud she was of ancient blood,
Yet oft her fear, her pride made crouchen low :
She felt, or fancied, in her fluttering mood,
All the diseases which the Spittles know,

And sought all physic which the shops bestow,
And still new leeches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro;
For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry,
Then sudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not

Fast by her side a listless maiden pin'd,
With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings ;
Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind,
Yet lov'd in secret all forbidden things.
And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings;
The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks,
A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent stings :
While Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks
Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.


The Knight of Arts and Industry,
And his achievements fair,
That by his Castle's overthrow
Secur'd and crowned were.

ESCAP'd the Castle of the sire of Sin,
Ah! where shall I so sweet a dwelling find?
For all around, without, and all within,
Nothing saye what delightful was and kind,
Of goodness savouring and a tender mind,
E'er rose to view. But now another strain,
Of doleful note, alas ! remains behind:
I now must sing of pleasure turn’d to pain,
And of the false enchanter, Indolence, complain.

Is there no patron to protect the Muse,
And fence for her Parnassus' barren soil ?
To every labour its reward accrues,
And they are sure of bread who swink* and moil;*
But a fell tribe th’ Aonian hive despoil,
As rathless wasps oft rob the painful bee:
Thus while the laws not guard that noblest toil,
Ne for the Muses other need decree,
They praised are alone, and starve right merrily.

I care not, Fortune! what you me deny ;
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace ;
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shews her brightening face ;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream,

at eve;
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave:
Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave.

Come then, my Muse ! and raise a bolder song;
Come, ligt no more upon the bed of sloth,
Dragging the lazy languid line along,
Pond to begit, but still to finish loth,

Thy half-wit scrolls all eaten by the moth :
Arise, and sing that generous imp of fame,
Who with the sons of Softness nobly wroth,
To sweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chosen few to rouse the slumbering flame.

In fairy-land there liv'd a knight of old,
Of feature stern, Selvaggio well yclep'd, *
A rough unpolish'd man, robust and bold,
But wondrous poor: he neither sow'd nor reap'd,
Ne stores in summer for cold winter heap'd;
In hunting all his days away he wore;
Now scorch'd by June, now in November steep'd,
Now pinch'd by biting January sore,
He still in woods pursu'd the libbard and the boar.

VI. As he one morning, long before the dawn, Prick'd through the forest to dislodge his prey, Deep in the winding bosom of a lawn, With wood wild-fring'd, he mark'd a taper's ray, That from the beating rain and wintry fray Did to a lonely cot his steps decoy; There up to earn the needments of the day, He found Dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy; Her he compress'd, and fill'd her with a lusty boy.

VII. Amid the green-wood shade this boy was bred, And grew at last a knight of mucklet fame, Of active mind and vigorous lusty bed, The Knight of Arts and Industry by name. Earth was his bed, the boughs his roof did frame He knew no beverage but the flowing stream; His tasteful well-earn'd food the sylvan game, Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands teem :' The same to him glad summer or the winter breme:

* Labour.

+ Lie.


+ Much.

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