Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground:
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half im-
brown'd,

A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,
No living wight could work, ne cared ev'n for play:

Was nought around but images of rest:

Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between ; And flowery beds that slumberous influence kest, From poppies breath'd; and beds of pleasant green,

Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime unnumber'd glittering streamlets play'd,

And hurled every where their waters sheen; That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made.

Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills,

Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And now and then sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep :
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep.

Full in the passage of the vale above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;
Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to
As Idless fancy'd in her dreaming mood: [move,
And up the hills, on either side, a wood

Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely
heard, to flow.

A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,

Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky:
There eke the soft delights, that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures always hover'd nigh;
But whate'er smack'd of noyance, or unrest
Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.

The landskip such, inspiring perfect ease,
Where Indolence (for so the wizard hight)
Close hid his castle mid embowering trees,
That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright,
And made a kind of checker'd day and night;
Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate,
Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked wight
Was plac'd; and to his lute, of cruel fate, [tate.
And labour harsh, complain'd, lamenting man's es-

Thither continual pilgrims crowded still,
From all the roads of earth that pass there by :

For, as they chaunc'd to breathe on neighbour-
ing hill,

The freshness of this valley smote their eye,
And drew them ever and anon more nigh;
Till clustering round th' enchanter false they
hung,

Ymolten with his syren melody;

While o'er th' enfeebling lute his hand he flung, And to the trembling chords these tempting verses sung:

"Behold! ye pilgrims of this earth, behold! See all but man with unearn'd pleasure gay: See her bright robes the butterfly unfold, Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May! What youthful bride can equal her array? Who can with her for easy pleasure vie? From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray, From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly, Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.

"Behold the merry minstrels of the morn, The swarming songsters of the careless grove, Ten thousand throats! that from the flowering

thorn.

Hymn their good God, and carol sweet of love, Such grateful kindly raptures them emove: They neither plough, nor sow: ne fit for flail, E'er to the barn the nodding sheaves they drove; Yet theirs each harvest dancing in the gale, Whatever crowns the hill, or smiles along the vale.

"Outcast of nature, man! the wretched thrall
Of bitter dropping sweat, of sweltry pain,
Of cares that eat away thy heart with gall,
And of the vices, an inhuman train,
That all proceed from savage thirst of gain:
For when hard-hearted interest first began
To poison earth, Astræa left the plain;

Guile, violence, and murder seiz'd on man,
And, for soft milky streams, with blood the rivers ran.

"Come, ye, who still the cumberous load of life Push hard up hill; but as the farthest steep You trust to gain, and put an end to strife, Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep, And hurls your labours to the valley deep, For ever vain: come, and, withouten fee, I in oblivion will your sorrows steep, Your cares, your toils; will steep you in a sea Of full delight: O come, ye weary wights, to me!

"With me you need not rise at early dawn, To pass the joyless day in various stounds: Or louting low, on upstart fortune fawn, And sell fair honour for some paltry pounds; Or through the city take your dirty rounds, To cheat, and dun, and lye, and visits pay, Now flattering base, now giving secret wounds: Or prowl in courts of law for human prey; In venal senate thieve, or rob on broad highway.

"No cocks, with me, to rustic labour call, From village on to village sounding clear:

Issuing forth, the knight bestrode his steed, Of ardent bay, and on whose front a star Shone blazing bright: sprung from the generous That whirl of active day the rapid car, [breed He pranc'd along, disdaining gate or bar. Meantime, the bard on milk-white palfrey rode; An honest sober beast, that did not mar His meditations, but full softly trode; And much they moraliz'd as thus yfere they yode.

They talk'd 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 out-well, Sweet rills of thought that cheer the conscious soul; While vice pours forth the troubled streams of hell, The which, howe'er disguis'd, at last with dole Will, through the tortur'd breast, their fiery torrent roll."

At length it dawn'd, that fatal valley gay,
O'er which high wood-crown'd hills their sum-
mits rear.

On the cool height awhile our palmers stay,
And spite ev'n of themselves their senses cheer;
Then to the vizard'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 seem'd glad.

"As God shall judge me, knight, we must forgive
(The half-enraptur'd Philomelus cry'd)
The frail good man deluded here to live,
And in these groves his musing fancy hide.
Ah! nought is pure. It cannot be deny'd,
That virtue still some tincture has of vice,
And vice of virtue. What should then betide
But that our charity be not too nice?

Come, let us those we can to real bliss entice."

But penance long, and dreary, to the slave, Who must in floods of fire his gross foul spirit lave."

Thus, holding high discourse, they came to where The cursed carle was at his wonted trade; Still tempting heedless men into his snare, In witching wise, as I before have said. But when he saw, in goodly geer array'd, The grave majestic knight approaching nigh, And by his side the bard so sage and staid, His countenance fell; yet oft his anxious eye Mark'd them, like wily fox who roosted cock doth spy.

Nathless, with feign'd respect, he bade give back
The rabble-rout, and welcom'd them full kind;
Struck with the noble twain, they were not slack
His orders to obey, and fall behind.

Then he resum'd his song; and unconfin'd, Pour'd all his music, ran through all his strings: With magic dust their eyne he tries to blind, And virtue's tender airs o'er weakness flings. What pity base his song who so divinely sings!

Elate in thought, he counted them his own,
They listen'd so intent with fix'd delight:
But they instead, as if transmew'd to stone,
Marvell'd he could with such sweet art unite
The lights and shades of manners, wrong and
right.

Meantime, the silly crowd the charm devour,
Wide pressing to the gate. Swift, on the knight
He darted fierce, to drag him to his bower,
Who backening shunn'd his touch, for well he
knew its power.

As in throng'd amphitheatre, of old, The wary Retiarius trapp'd his foe: Ev'n so the knight, returning on him bold, At once involv'd him in the net of woe, Whereof I mention made not long ago. Enrag'd at first, he scorn'd so weak a jail, And leapt, and flew, and flounced to and fro, But when he found that nothing could avail, He set him felly down and gnaw'd his bitter nail.

Alarm'd, th' inferior demons of the place Rais'd rueful shrieks and hideous yells around; Black stormy clouds deform'd the welkin's face, And from beneath was heard a wailing sound, As of infernal sprights in cavern bound; A solemn sadness every creature strook, And lightnings flash'd, and horror rock'd the ground. [mish'd look, Huge crowds on crowds out-pour'd, with bleAs if on time's last verge this frame of things had shook.

Soon as the short-liv'd tempest was yspent,
Steam'd from the jaws of vext Avernus' hole,
And hush'd the hubbub of the rabblement,
Sir Industry the first calm moment stole.
"There must (he cry'd) amidst so vast a shoal,

Be some who are not tainted at the heart,
Not poison'd quite by this same villain's bowl:
Come then, my bard, thy heavenly fire impart;
Touch soul with soul, till forth the latent spirit start."

The bard obey'd; and taking from his side,
Where it in seemly sort depending hung,
His British harp, its speaking strings he try'd,
The which with skilful touch he deftly strung,
Till tinkling in clear symphony they rung.
Then, as he felt the Muses come along,

Light o'er the chords his raptur'd hand he flung,
And play'd a prelude to his rising song:
The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round
him throng.

Thus, ardent, burst his strain.

"Ye helpless race, Dire-labouring here to smother reason's ray, That lights our Maker's image in our face, And gives us wide o'er earth unquestion'd sway; What is th' ador'd Supreme Perfection, say? What, but eternal never-resting soul, Almighty power, and all-directing day; By whom each atom stirs, the planets roll; Who fills, surrounds, informs, and agitates the whole.

"Come, to the beaming God your hearts unfold!
Draw from its fountain life! 'Tis thence, alone,
We can excel. Up from unfeeling mould,
To seraphs burning round th' Almighty's throne,
Life rising still on life, in higher tone,
Perfection forms, and with perfection bliss.
In universal nature this clear shown,

Nor needeth proof: to prove it were, I wis,
To prove the beauteous world excels the brute abyss.

"Is not the field, with lively culture green, A sight more joyous than the dead morass? Do not the skies, with active ether clean, And fann'd by sprightly zephyrs, far surpass The foul November fogs and slumberous mass, With which sad nature veils her drooping face? Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glass, Gay-dancing on, the putrid pool disgrace? The same in all holds true, but chief in human race.

"It was not by vile loitering in ease

That Greece obtain'd the brighter palm of art,
That soft yet ardent Athens learn'd to please,
To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart,
In all supreme! complete in every part!
It was not thence majestic Rome arose,
And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart:
For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows;
Renown is not the child of indolent repose.

"Had unambitious mortals minded nought,
But in loose joy their time to wear away;
Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought,
Pleas'd on her pillow their dull heads to lay;
Rude nature's state had been our state to-day:

No cities e'er their towery fronts had rais'd, No arts had made us opulent and gay;

With brother-brutes the human race had graz'd; None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honour'd been, none prais❜d.

"Great Homer's song had never fir'd the breast
To thirst of glory, and heroic deeds;
Sweet Maro's Muse, sunk in inglorious rest,
Had silent slept amid the Mincian reeds:
The wits of modern time had told their beads,
And monkish legends been their only strains;
Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds,
Our Shakspeare stroll'd and laugh'd with War-
wick swains,
[plains.
Ne had my master Spenser charm'd his Mulla's
"Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse,
And perish'd all the sons of ancient fame;
Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse
Through the dark depth of time their vivid flame,
Had all been lost with such as have no name.
Who then had scorn'd his ease for others' good?
Who then had toil'd rapacious men to tame?
Who in the public breach devoted stood,
And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood?
"But should your hearts to fame unfeeling be,
If right I read, you pleasure all require:
Then hear how best may be obtain❜d this fee,
How best enjoy'd this nature's wide desire.
Toil, and be glad! let industry inspire
Into your quicken'd limbs her buoyant breath!
Who does not act is dead; absorpt entire
In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath:

O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death!
"Ah! what avail the largest gifts of heaven,
When drooping health and spirits go amiss?
How tasteless then whatever can be given?
Health is the vital principle of bliss,
And exercise of health. In proof of this,
Behold the wretch, who slugs his life away,
Soon swallow'd in disease's sad abyss;

While he whom toil has brac'd, or manly play, Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day.

"O, who can speak the vigorous joy of health!
Unclogg'd the body, unobscur'd the mind:
The morning rises gay, with pleasing stealth,
The temperate evening falls serene and kind.
In health the wiser brutes true gladness find.
See! how the younglings frisk along the meads,
As May comes on, and wakes the balmy wind;
Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds:
Yet what but high-strung health this dancing plea-
saunce breeds?

"But here, instead, is foster'd every ill,
Which or distemper'd minds or bodies know.
Come then, my kindred spirits! do not spill
Your talents here. This place is but a show,
Whose charms delude you to the den of woe:

Come, follow me, I will direct you right,
Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow,
Sincere as sweet; come, follow this good knight,
And you will bless the day that brought him to
your sight.

"Some he will lead to courts, and some to camps;
To senates some, and public sage debates,
Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight lamps,
The world is pois'd, and manag'd mighty states;
To high discovery some, that new-creates
The face of earth; some to the thriving mart;
Some to the rural reign, and softer fates;
To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart;
All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art.

"There are, I see, who listen to my lay,
Who wretched sigh for virtue, but despair.
All may be done (methinks I hear them say)
Ev'n death despis'd by generous actions fair;
All, but for those who to these bowers repair,
Their every power dissolv'd in luxury.
To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair,
And from the powerful arms of sloth get free,
"Tis rising from the dead-Alas!—It cannot be !
"Would you then learn to dissipate the band
Of these huge threatening difficulties dire,
That in the weak man's way like lions stand,
His soul appal, and damp his rising fire?
Resolve, resolve, and to be men aspire.
Exert that noblest privilege, alone,
Here to mankind indulg'd: controul desire:
Let godlike reason, from her sovereign throne,
Speak the commanding word-I will—and it is done.

"Heavens! can you then thus waste, in shameful Your few important days of trial here ? [wise, Heirs of eternity! yborn to rise Through endless states of being, still more near To bliss approaching, and perfection clear, Can you renounce a fortune so sublime, Such glorious hopes, your backward steps to steer, And roll, with vilest brutes, through mud and slime, [sordid crime !" No! no!-Your heaven-touch'd heart disdains the

"Enough! enough!" they cry'd-straight from
the crowd

The better sort on wings of transport fly:
As when amid the lifeless summits proud
Of Alpine cliffs, where to the gelid sky
Snows pil'd on snows in wintery torpor lie,
The rays divine of vernal Phoebus play;
Th' awaken'd heaps, in streamlets from on high,
Rous'd into action, lively leap away, [gay.
Glad warbling through the vales, in their new being

Not less the life, the vivid joy serene,
That lighted up these new-created men,
Than that which wings th' exulting spirit clean,
When, just deliver'd from its fleshly den,
It soaring seeks its native skies agen:

How light its essence! how unclogg'd its powers,

"Ye impious wretches,” (quoth the knight in wrath)

"Your happiness behold!"-Then straight a wand
He wav'd, an anti-magic power that hath,
Truth from illusive falsehood to command.
Sudden the landskip sinks on every hand;
The pure quick streams are marshy puddles found;
On baleful heaths the groves all blacken'd stand;
And, o'er the weedy, foul, abhorred ground,
Snakes,adders, toads,each loathsome creature crawls
around,

And here and there, on trees by lightning scath'd,
Unhappy wights who loathed life yhung;
Or, in fresh gore and recent murder bath'd,
They weltering lay; or else, infuriate flung
Into the gloomy flood, while ravens sung
The funeral dirge, they down the torrent roll'd:
These, by distemper'd blood to madness stung,
Had doom'd themselves; whence oft, when night
controul'd

The world, returning hither their sad spirits howl'd.
Meantime a moving scene was open laid;
That lazar-house, I whilom in my lay
Depainted have, its horrors deep display'd,
And gave unnumber'd wretches to the day,
Who tossing there in squalid misery lay.
Soon as of sacred light th' unwonted smile
Pour'd on these living catacombs its ray,
Through the drear caverns stretching many a mile,
The sick up-rais'd their heads, and dropp'd their
woes awhile.

"O, Heaven!" (they cry'd)" and do we once

more see

Nathless, to nobler worlds repentance rears,
With humble hope, her eye; to her is given
A power the truly contrite heart that cheers;
She quells the brand by which the rocks are riven;
She more than merely softens, she rejoices Heaven.

"Then patient bear the sufferings you have earn'd,
And by these sufferings purify the mind;
Let wisdom be by past misconduct learn'd:
Or pious die, with penitence resign'd,
And to a life more happy and refin'd,
Doubt not, you shall, new creatures, yet arise.
Till then, you may expect in me to find

One who will wipe your sorrow from your eyes,
One who will soothe your pangs, and wing you
to the skies."

They silent heard, and pour'd their thanks in tears. “For you” (resum'd the knight, with sterner tone) "Whose hard dry hearts th' obdurate demon sears, That villain's gifts will cost you many a groan; In dolorous mansion long you must bemoan His fatal charms, and weep your stains away: Till, soft and pure as infant goodness grown, You feel a perfect change: then, who can say, What grace may yet shine forth in Heaven's eternal day ?"

This said, his powerful wand he wav'd anew:
Instant, a glorious angel train descends,
The charities, to wit, of rosy hue;
Sweet love their looks a gentle radiance lends,
And with seraphic flame compassion blends.
At once, delighted, to their charge they fly:
When, lo! a goodly hospital ascends;

In which they bade each lenient aid be nigh, That could the sick bed smooth of that sad company.

It was a worthy, edifying sight,

And gives to human-kind peculiar grace,
To see kind hands attending day and night,
With tender ministry, from place to place.
Some prop the head; some from the pallid face
Wipe off the faint cold dews weak nature sheds;
Some reach the healing draught: the whilst, to
chase

The fear supreme, around their soften'd beds, Some holy man by prayer all-opening Heaven dispreds.

Attended by a glad acclaiming train,

Of those he rescued had from gaping Hell,
Then turn'd the knight; and, to his hall again,
Soft-pacing, sought of peace the mossy cell:
Yet down his cheeks the gems of pity fell,
To see the helpless wretches that remain'd,
There left through delves and deserts dire to yell;
Amaz'd, their looks with pale dismay were stain'd,
And spreading wide their hands they meek repen-
tance feign'd.

But, ah! their scorned day of grace was past:
For (horrible to tell!) a desert wild

Before them stretch'd, bare, comfortless, and vast;

With gibbets, bones, and carcases defil'd.
There nor trim field, nor lively culture smil'd;
Nor waving shade was seen, nor fountain fair;
But sands abrupt on sands lay loosely pil'd,
Through which they floundering toil'd with pain-
ful care,
[less air.
Whilst Phoebus smote them sore, and fir'd the cloud-

Then, varying to a joyless land of bogs,
The sadden'd country a gray waste appear'd;
Where nought but putrid streams and noisome fogs
For ever hung on drizzly Auster's beard;
Or else the ground by piercing Caurus sear'd,
Was jagg'd with frost, or heap'd with glazed snow:
Through these extremes a ceaseless round they

steer'd,

[moe.

By cruel fiends still hurry'd to and fro, Gaunt beggary, and scorn, with many hell-hounds The first was with base dunghill rags yclad, Tainting the gale, in which they flutter'd light; Of morbid hue his features, sunk, and sad; His hollow eyne shook forth a sickly light; And o'er his lank jaw-bone, in piteous plight, His black rough beard was matted rank and vile; Direful to see! an heart-appalling sight! Meantime foul scurf and blotches him defile; And dogs,where'er he went,still barked all thewhile.

The other was a fell despightful fiend:

Hell holds none worse in baleful bower below: By pride, and wit, and rage, and rancour, keen'd; Of man alike, of good or bad, the foe: With nose up-turn'd, he always made a show As if he smelt some nauseous scent; his eye Was cold, and keen, like blast from boreal snow; And taunts he casten forth most bitterly. Such were the twain that off drove this ungodly fry.

Ev'n so through Brentford town, a town of mud, An herd of bristly swine is prick'd along; The filthy beasts, that never chew the cud, [song, Still grunt, and squeak, and sing their troublous And oft they plunge themselves the mire among: But aye the ruthless driver goads them on, And aye of barking dogs the bitter throng Makes them renew their unmelodious moan; Ne ever find they rest from their unresting fone.

SONG,

WRITTEN IN HIS EARLY YEARS, AND AFTERWARDS
SHAPED FOR HIS AMANDA.

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love;
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between and bid us part;
Bid us sigh on from day to day,
And wish and wish the soul away;
Till youth and genial years are flown,
And all the life of life is gone?
But busy busy still art thou,
To bind the loveless joyless vow,