Sir porter fat him down, and turn'd to sleep again.
Thus eafy rob'd, they to the fountain fped,
That in the middle of the court up-threw
A ftream, high fpouting from its liquid bed, -
And falling back again in drizly dew:
There each deep draughts, as deep he thirsted,
drew.

It was a fountain of Nepthene rare: [grew,
Whence, as Dan Homer fings, huge pleafaunce
And fweet oblivion of vile earthly care;
Fair gladfome waking thoughts, and joyous
dreams more fair.

This rite perform'd, all inly pleas'd and still,
Withouten tromp was proclamation made:
Ye fons of Indolence, do what you will;
And wander where you lift, thro'hall or glade!
Be no man's pleasure for another's staid;
Let each as likes him beft his hours employ;
And curs'd be he who minds his neighbour's
⚫ trade !

• Here dwells kind ease and unreproving joy :
He little merits blifs who others can annoy.'
Strait of thefe endless numbers, fwarming
As thick as idle motes in funny ray, [round,
Not one eftfoons in view was to be found,
But ev'ry man ftroll'd off his own glad way.
Wide o'er this ample court's blank area,
With all the lodges that thereto pertain❜d,
No living creature could be seen to stray;
While folitude and perfect filence reign'd:
So that to think you dream'd you almost was
constrain'd.

As when a fhepherd of the Hebride Isles, Plac'd far amid the melancholy main (Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles; Ör that aerial beings fometimes deign To ftand, embodied, to our fenfes plain) -Sees on the naked hill, or valley low, The whilft in occan Phoebus dips his wain, A vaft affembly moving to and fro : Then all at once in air diffolves the wondrous fhow.

Ye gods of quiet and of fleep profound! Whofe foft dominion o'er this caftle sways, And all the wildly filent places round, Forgive me, if my trembling pen difplays What never yet was fung in mortal lays, But how fhall I attempt such arduðus string, I who have spent my nights and nightly days In this foul dead'ning place, loofe-loitering? Ah! how shall I forthis uprear my moulted wing?

Come on, my mufe, nor ftoop to low-defpair, Thou imp of Jove, touch'd by celeftial fire! Thou yet fhalt fing of war, and actions fair, Which the bold fons of Britain will infpire; Of ancient bards thou yet fhalt fweep the lyre; Thou yet fhalt tread in tragic pall the stage, Paint love's enchanting woes, the hero's ire, The fage's calm, the patriot's noble rage, [age. Dafhing corruption down thro' ev'ry worthless

The doors that knew no fhrill alarming bell, Ne curfed knocker ply'd by villain's hand, Self-open'd into halls, where, who can tell What elegance and grandeur wide expand The pride of Turkey and of Perfia land? Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread, And couches ftretch around in feemly band, And endless pillows rife to prop the head ; So that each spacious room was one full-fwelling bed.

And ev'rywhere huge cover'd tables flood, With wines high flavour'd and rich viands crown'd;

Whatever sprightly juice or tafteful food On the green bofom of this earth are found, And all old occan genders in his round: Some hand unicen thefe filently difplay'd, Ev'n undemanded by a fign or found; You need but with, and, inftantly obey'd, Fair rang'd the dishes rofe, and thick the glaffes play'd.

Her freedom reign'd without the leaft alloy; Nor gollip's tale, nor ancient maiden's gall, Nor faintly spleen durft murmur at our joy, And with envenom'd tongue our pleasures pall. For why there was but one great rule for all; To wit, that each fhould work his own defire, And cat, drink, study, fleep, as it may fall, Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre, And carol what, unbid, the mufes might infpire The rooms with coftly tapestry were hung, Where was enwoven many a gentle tale! Such as of old the rural poets fung, Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale: Reclining lovers, in the lovely dale, Pour'd forth at large the fweetly tortur'd heart; Or, fighing tender paffion, fwell'd the gale, And taught charm'd echo to refoundtheirfmart; While flocks, woods, ftreams around, repofe and peace impart.

Thofe pleas'd the moft, where, by a cunning hand,

Depainted was the patriarchal age; fland, What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee And paftur'd on from verdant ftage to stage, Where fields and fountains freth could beft

Sometimes

Sometimes the pencil in cool airy halls,
Bade the gay bloom of vernal landscapes rife,
Or autumn's vary'd fhades imbrown the walls;
Now the black tempeft ftrikes the astonish'd

cyes;

Now down the fteep the flashing torrent flies;
The trembling fun now plays o'er ocean blue,
And now rude mountains frown amid the skies;
Whate'er Lorrain light touch'd with foft`n-
ing hue,

Or farage Rota dafh'd, or learn'd Pouffin drew.
Each found too here to languifhment inclin'd,
Lull'd the weak bofom, and induced cafe.
Aerial mufic in the warbling wind,
At distance rifing oft, by finall degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees
It hung, and breath'd fuch foul-diffolving airs,
As did, alas! with foft perdition pleafe:
Entangl'd deep in its enchanting fnares,
The lift'ning heart forgot all duties and all cares.
A certain mufic, never known before,
Here lull'd the penfive melancholy mind;
Full easily obtain'd. Behoves no more,
But fidelong, to the gently-waving wind,
To lay the well tun'd inftrument reclin'd;
From which with airy flying fingers light,
Beyond cach mortal touch the moft refin'd,
The god of winds drew founds of deep delight:
Whence with juft caufe, the Harp of Eolus
it hight.

Ahme! what hand can touch the firing fo fine,
Who up the lofty diapafon roll

Such fweet, fuch fad, fuch folemn airs divine,
Then let them down again into the foul?
Now rifing love they fann'd; now pleafing dole
They breath'd in tender mufings, thro' the
heart;

And now a graver facred ftrain they stole,
As when feraphic hands an hymu impart :
Wild warbling nature all, above the reach of art!
Such the gay fplendor, the luxurious state,
Of Caliphs old, who on the Tygris' fhore,
In mighty Bagdat, populous and great,
Held their bright court, where was of ladiesftore;
And verte, love, mulic, ftill the garland wore:
When fleep was coy, the bard, inwaiting there,
Cheer'd the lonemidnight with the Mufe's lore;
Compofing mutic bade his dreams be fair,
And mutic lent new gladnefs to the morning air.
Near the pavilions where we flept, still ran
Soft-tinkling Itreams, and dafhing waters fell,
And fobbing breezes figh'd, and oft began
(So work'd the wizard) wint'ry storms to fwell,
As heav'n and earth they would together mell.
At doors and windows, threat'ning, feem'd to
The demons of the tempeft growling fell,[call
Yet the leaft entrance found they none at all;
Whencelweetergrewour fleep,fecurein maffy hall.

And hither Morpheus fent his kindest dreams, Raifing a world of gayer tinct and grace; O'er which were fhadowy caft Elysian gleams, That play'd, in waving lights, from place to place,

And fhed a rofeat finile on nature's face. Not Titian's pencil e'er could fo array, So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal space; Ne could it e'er fuch inclting forms difplay, As loofe on flow'ry beds all languishingly lay. No, fair illufions artful phantoms, no! My Mufe will not attempt your fairy-land : She has no colours that like you can glow; To catch your vivid fcenes too grofs her hand. But fure it is, was nic'er a fubtler band Than thefefaineguilefulangel-feemingfprights, Who thus in dreams, voluptuous, foft and bland,

Pour'd all th' Arabian heav'n upon our nights And blefy'd them oft befides with more refin' delights.

They were in footh, a moft inchanting train,
Ev'n feigning virtue; skiiful to unite
With evil good, and ftrew with pleafure pain.
But for thofe fiends, whom blood and broils
delight;

Who hurl the wretch, as if to hell outright,
Down, down black gulphs, where fullen was
ters fleep,

Or hold him clamb'ring all the fearful night On beetling cliffs, or pent in ruins deep; They, till duc time fhould ferve, were bid far hence to keep.

Ye guardian fpirits, to whom man is dear, From thefe foul demons thield the midnight gloom:

Angels of fancy and of love be near,

And o'er the blank of fleep diffuse a bloom :
Evoke the facred fhades of Greece and Rome,
And let them vittue with a look impart :
But chief, a while O lend us from the tomb
Thofe long-loft friends for whom in love we

Imart,

[heart! And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt woe the Or are you sportive-Bid the morn of youth Rfe to new light, and beam afresh the days Of innocence, fimplicity, and truth, Tocares cftrang'd,and manhood's thornyways. What transport to retrace our boyith plays, Our eafy blits, when each thing joy fupply'd; The woods, the mountains, and the warbling [wide, Of the wild brooks! But fondly wand'ring My Mufe,refine the task that yet doth thee abide. One great amufement of our household was, In a huge cryftal magic globe to spy, Still as you turn'd it, all things that do pafs Upon this ant-hill earth; where-eonstantly

maze

mentioned.

Of

Of limbs enormous, but withal unfound, Soft-fwoln and pale, here lay the Hydropfy: Unwieldy man; with belly monftrous round, For ever fed with watery fupply; For ftill he drank, and yet he ftill was dry. And moping here did Hypochondria fit, Mother of spleen, in robes of various dye, Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit; [awit. And fome her frantic deem'd, and fome her deem'd A lady proud fhe was, of ancient blood, Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchen low: She felt, or fancy'd in her flutt'ring mood, All the difcafes which the fpittles know, And fought all phyfic which the shops bestow; And ftill new leaches and new drugs would try, Her humour ever wav'ring to and fro: [cry, For fometimes fhe would laugh, and fometimes Then fuddden waxed wroth; and all the knew not why.

Faft by her fide a liftlefs maiden pin'd, [ings; With aching head, and fqueamish heart burnPale, bloated, cold, the feem'd to hate mankind, Yet lov'd in fecret all forbidden things.

And here the Tertian thakes his chilling wings; The fleeplefs gout here counts the crowing cocks;

A wolf now gnaws him, now a ferpent ftings; While apoplexy cramm'd intemp'rance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.

$52. The Cafile of Indolence. An Allegorical

Poem. THOMSON.
CANTO II.
The knight of arts and industry,
And his atchievements fair;
That, by this caftle's overthraqv,
Secur'd and crowned were.

ESCAP'D the caftle of the fire of fin,

Ah where fhall I fo sweet a dwelling find › For all around, without, and all within, Nothing fave what delightful was and kind, Of goodnets fav'ring and a tender mind, E'er role to view. But now another ftrain, Of doleful note, alas! remains behind : I now muft fing of pleasure turn'd to pain; And of the falfe inchanter Indolence complain. Is there no patron to protect the muse, And fence for her Parnaffus' barren foil? To ev'ry labour its reward accrues, And they are fure of bread who fink and moil; But a fell tribe the Aonian hive defpoil, As ruthlefs wafps oft rob the painful bee: Thus while the laws not guard that nobleft toil, Ne for the Mufes other meed decree, They praised are alone, and ftarve right merrily.

Come then, my mufe, and raife a bolder fong;
Come, lig no more upon the bed of floth,
Dragging the lazy languid line along,
Fond to begin, but still to finish loth;
Thy half-writ fcrolls all eaten by the moth:
Arife, and fing that gen'rous imp of fame,
Who with the fons of foftnefs nobly wroth,
To fweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chofen few to roufe the flumb'ring flame.
In Fairy-land there liv'd a knight of old,
Of feature ftern, Selvagio yclep'd;
A rough unpolish'd mạn, robust and bold,
But wond'rous poor: he neither fow'd nor
reap'd.

Ne ftores in fummer for cold winter heap';
In hunting all his days away he wore;
Now fcorch'd by June,now in November steep'd,
Now pinch'd by biting January fore,

He ftill in woods purfu'd the libbard and the boar.
As he one morning, long before the dawn,
Prick'd thro' the foreft to diflodge his prey,
Deep in the winding bofom of a lawn,
With wood wild-fring'd, he mark'd a taper's

ray,

That from the beating rain and wint'ry fray Did to a lonely cot his fteps decoy;

There, up to earn the needments of the day, He found dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy: Her he comprefs'd, and fill'd her with a lufty boy. Amid the green-wood fhade this boy was bred, And grew at laft a knight of muchel fame, Of active mind and vigorous luftyhed; The Knight of Arts and Industry by name. Earthwas his bed,the boughs his roof did frame; He knew no bev'rage but the flowing ftream; His tafteful well-carn'd food the fylvan game, Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands

teem:

The fame to him glad fummer,or thewinter breme

So pafs'd his youthly morning, void of care,
Wild as the colts that thro' the commons run:
For him no tender parents troubled were,
He of the foreft feem'd to be the fon;
And certes had been utterly undone,
But that Minerva pity of him took,
With all the gods that love the rural wonne,
That teach to tame the foil and rule the crook;
Ne did the facred Nine difdain a gentle look.

Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well,
In ev'ry fcience and in ev'ry art,
By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel,
That can or ute, or joy, or grace impart,
Difclofing

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