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Now rising love they fann'd; now pleasing dole They breathed, in tender musings, through the heart;

And now a graver sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart;
Wild-warbling Nature all, above the reach of Art!
And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,

Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace,
O'er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams,

That played, in waving lights, from place to place,

And shed a roseate smile on Nature's face,
Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array,

With fleecy clouds, the pure ethereal space ;
Ne could it e'er such melting forms display,
As loose on flowery beds all lan guishingly lay.
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, poured out in ease and luxury :
Or should they a vain show of work assume,

Alăs! and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twist, to range the vernal bloom ;
But far is căst the distăff, spinning-wheel, and loom.
Their only labor was to kill the time;

· And labor dire it is, and weary wo:
They sit, they loll, turn o’er some idle rhyme,

Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow :
This soon too rude an exercise they find;

Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw, Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined, And court the vapory god soft-breathing in the wind. Now must I mark the villany we found ;

But, ah ! too late, as shall eftsoons* be shown. A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground,

Where still our inmates, when unpleasing grown,

Diseased, and loathsome, privily were thrown. Far from the light of heaven, they languished there,

Unpitied, uttering many a bitter groan; For of these wretches taken was no care : Fierce fiends, and hags of hell, their only nurses were.

Eftsoons, immediately, often, afterwards.


Alăs! the change! from scenes of joy and rest,

To this dark den, where Sickness tossed alway. Here Lethargy, with deadly sleep opprest,

Stretched on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay,

Heaving his sides, and snoring night and day; To stir him from his trance it was not eath,

And his half-opened eyne he shut straightway; He led, I wot, the softest way to death, And taught withoutent pain and strife to yield the breath. Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound,

Soft-swoln 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 deemed, and some her deemed a wit.

A lady proud she was of āncient blood,

Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchent low ; She felt, or fancied, in her fluttering mood,

All the diseases which the spitals know,

And sought all physic which the shops bestow,
And still new leaches and new drugs would try,

Her humor ever wavering to and fro ;
For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry,
Then sudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not why.
Făst by her side a listless maiden pined,

With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings”;
Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind,

Yet loved 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; Whilst Apoplexy crammed Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.

* Eath, easy.

+ En is often placed at the end of a word by Spenser, to lengthen it a syllable.


Address of the Bard in the train of Industry, to the inhabi

tants of the Castle of Indolence.—İBID. The bard obeyed; and taking from his side,

Where it in seemly sort depending hung, His British harp, its speaking strings he tried,

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 raptured hand he flung,
And played a prelude to his rising song;
The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round him

Thus, ardent, burst his strain—“Ye hapless race !

Dire laboring here to smother reason's ray, That lights our Maker's image in our face,

And gives us wide o'er earth unquestioned sway,

What is the adored 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 the Almighty's throne,

Life rising still on life, in higher tone,
Perfection forms, and with perfection bliss.

In universal nature this is shown,
Nor needeth proof: to prove it were, I wis,*

the beauteous world excels the brute abyss. · Is not the field, with lively culture green,

A sight more joyous than the dead morăss ? Do not the skies, with active ēther clean,

And fanned by sprightly Zephyrs, far surpăss
The foul November fogs, and slumberous măss,
With which sad Nature veils her drooping face?

Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glăss,
Gay-dăncing on, the putrid pool disgrace ?
The same in all holds true, but chief in human race.

*Wis, for wist, to knoro, think, understand.

“It was not by vile loitering in ease,

That Greece obtained the brighter palm of art, That, soft yet ardent, Athens learned 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,

Pleased 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 raised,

No arts had made us opulent and gay;
With brother-brutes the human race had grazed ;
None e'er had soared to fame, none honored been, none

“Great Homer's song had never fired 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 strolled and laughed with Warwick swains, Ne had my master Spenser charmed his Mulla's plains.

Dumb, too, had been the sage historic Muse,

And perished 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 scorned his ease for others' good ?

Who then had toiled rapacious men to tame ?
Who in the public breach devoted stood,
And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood ?
“ But should to fame your hearts unfeeling be,

If right I read, you pleasure all require ;
Then hear how best may be obtained this fee,

How best enjoyed this Nature's wide desire.

Toil, and be glad ! let Industry inspire
Into your quickened limbs her buoyant breath!

Who does not act is dead : absorbed 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 swallowed in Disease's sad abyss,
While he whom Toil has braced, or manly play,
Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day.
“O who can speak the vigorous joys of health!

Unclogged the body, unobscured 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 dăncing pleasaunce*

breeds! “ But here, instead, is fostered every ill,

Which or distempered 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 Wo: Come, follow me; I will direct

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 poised, and managed 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.

you right,

* Pleasaunce, pleasure.


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