LX.

With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk,
(Profoundly silent, for they never spoke)
One shyer still, who quite detested talk:
Oft, stung by spleen, at once away he broke,
To groves of pine, and broad o'ershadowing oak:
There, inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone,
And on himself his pensive fury wroke,

Ne ever utter'd word, save when first shone The glittering star of eve- -"Thank heaven! the day is done.'

LXI.

Here lurk'd a wretch,† who had not crept abroad
For forty years, ne face of mortal seen;
In chamber brooding like a loathly toad:
And sure his linen was not very clean.
Through secret loop holes, that had practised
been

Near to his bed, his dinner vile he took;

Unkempt, and rough, of squalid face and mien, Our Castle's shame! whence, from his filthy nook,

We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look.

LXII.

One day there chanced into these halls to rove A joyous youth, who took you at first sight; Him the wild wave of pleasure hither drove,

*Conjecture has applied this to Dr. Armstrong, the poet. † Henry Welby, Esq. See Granger, iii. 132, 5th edition.

*

Before the sprightly tempest tossing light: Certes, he was a most engaging wight, Of social glee, and wit humane though keen, Turning the night to day and day to night: For him the merry bells had rung, I ween, If in this nook of quiet bells had ever been.

LXIII.

But not even pleasure to excess is good: What most elates, then sinks the soul as low: When springtide joy pours in with copious flood, The higher still the exulting billows flow, The further back again they flagging go, And leave us groveling on the dreary shore. Taught by this son of joy, we found it so; Who, whilst he staid, he kept in gay uproar Our madden'dcastle all, the abode of sleep no more:

LXIV.

As when in prime of June a burnish'd fly, Sprung from the meads, o'er which he sweeps

along,

Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky, Tunes up amid these airy halls his song, Soothing at first the gay reposing throng: And oft he sips their bowl; or nearly drown'd, He, thence recovering, drives their beds among, And scares their tender sleep, with trump profound;

Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round. * John Forbes, son of Duncan Forbes, of Culloden.

LXV.

Another guest* there was, of sense refined,
Who felt each worth, for every worth he had;
Serene yet warm, humane yet firm his mind,
As little touch'd as any man's with bad:
Him through their inmost walks the Muses lad,
To him the sacred love of nature lent,

And sometimes would he make our valley glad; Whenas we found he would not here be pent, To him the better sort this friendly message sent:

LXVI.

Come, dwell with us! true son of virtue, come! But if, alas! we cannot thee persuade

To lie content beneath our peaceful dome,
Ne ever more to quit our quiet glade;

Yet when at last thy toils but ill apaid

Shall dead thy fire, and damp its heavenly spark,

Thou wilt be glad to seek the rural shade,

There to indulge the muse, and nature mark:

We then a lodge for thee will rear in Hagley Park.'

LXVII.

Here whilom ligg'd the Esopust of the age;
But, call'd by fame, in soul ypricked deep,
A noble pride restored him to the stage,
And roused him like a giant from his sleep.

*George, Lord Lyttelton.

† Mr. Quin

Even from his slumbers we advantage reap: With double force the enliven'd scene he wakes, Yet quits not nature's bounds. He knows to keep

Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well urged sense the enlighten'd judgment takes.

LXVIII.

A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems;
Who,* void of envy, guile, and lust of gain,
On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes,
Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain:
The world forsaking with a calm disdain,
Here laugh'd he careless in his easy seat;
Here quaff'd, encircled with the joyous train,
Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet

He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat.

LXIX.

Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod,
Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy.
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,

And shone all glittering with ungodly dew

--

*The following lines of this stanza were writ by a friend of the Author. T. — They are generally ascribed to Lord Lyttelton, and were designed to portray the character of

Thomson.

†The Rev. Mr. Murdoch, Thomson's friend and biographer.

If a tight damsel chanced to trippen by ;

Which when observed, he shrunk into his mew,
And straight would recollect his piety anew.

LXX.

Nor be forgot a tribe, who minded nought
(Old inmates of the place) but state-affairs:
They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought;
And on their brow sat every nation's cares;
The world by them is parcel'd out in shaies,
When in the Hall of Smoke they congress hold,
And the sage berry sun-burnt Mocha bears
Has clear'd their inward eye: then, smoke-en-
roll'd,

Their oracles break forth, mysterious as of old.

LXXI.

Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court:
Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,

From every quarter hither made resort;
Where, from gross mortal care and business free,
They lay, pour'd out in ease and luxury.
Or should they a vain show of work assume,
Alas and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twist, to 'range the vernal bloom;
But far is cast the distaff, spinning-wheel, and loom.

LXXII.

Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe.