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Then fought he from the toilsome scene to part,
XXV. For this he chose a farm in Deva's vale, Where his long allies peep'd upon the main. In this calm feat he drew the healthful gale, Here mix'd the chief, the patriot, and the swain. The happy monarch of his fylvan train, Here, fided by the guardians of the fold, He walk'd his rounds, and chear'd his blest domain :
His days, the days of unstain's nature, rolld, Replete with peace and joy, like patriarch's of old.
XXVI. Witness, ye lowing herds, who gave him milk; Witness, ye locks, whose woolly vestments far. Exceed soft India's cotton, or her filk; Witness, with autumn charg'd, the nodding car, That homeward came beneath sweet evening's star, Or of September moons the radiance mild. 0, hide thy head, abominable war!
Of crimes and ruffian idleness the child ! From heaven this life ysprung, from hell thy glories yild !
Dark frowning heaths grow bright with Ceres' store, And woods imbrown the steep, or wave along the fhore.
An happy place; where free, and unafraid,
The land was overlaid with many a lout; Not, as old Fame reports, wise, generous, bold, and stout.
rage of pleasuré madden'd every breast, Down to the lowest lees the ferment ran : To his licentious with each must be blest, With joy be fever'd; snatch it as he can. Thus Vice the standard rear'd; her arrier-ban Corruption callid, and loud she gave the word, [man, “ Mind, mind yourselves ! why should the vulgar
“ The lacquey be more virtuous than his lord ? " Enjoy this span of life! 'tis all the gods afford.”
XXXI. The tidings reach'd to where in quiet hall, The good old knight enjoy'd well-earn'd repose. “ Come, come, Sir Knight! thy children on thee call: “Come, save us yet, ere ruin round us close! “ The demon Indolence thy toils o’erthrows." On this the noble colour stain'd his cheeks, Indignant, glowing through the whitening snows
Of venerable eld; his eye full-speaks His ardent soul, and from his couch at once he breaks,
Repentance comes : replevy cannot be
True comelinefs, which nothing can impair,
But some there be, thy song, as from their graves,
His meditations, but full softly trode;
XXXVI. They talk'd of virtúe, and of human bliss. What else fo fit for man to settle well? And still their long rescarches met in this, This truth of truths, which nothing can refel : 66 From virtue's fount the purest joys out-well, “ Sweet rills of thought that chear the conscious soul; “ While vice pours forth the troubled ftreams of hell,
« The which, howe'er disguis'd, at last with dole Will, through the tortur'd breast, their fiery torrent XXXVII.
[roll.” At length it dawn'd, that fatal valley gay, O’er which high wood-crown'd hills their fummits On the cool height awhile our palmers ftay, [rear. And spite ev'n of themselves their fenfes chear ; Then to the vizard's wonne their steps they steer. Like a green ifle, it broad beneath them spred, 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.
XXXVIII. “ As God shall judge me, knight, we must forgift (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, 66 That virtue still some tincture has of vice, “ And vice of virtue. What should then beride
“ But that our charity be not too nice ? “ Come, let us those we can to real bliss entice.
XXXIX. " AJ,