Thus eafy rob'd, they to the fountain sped,
That in the middle of the court up-threw
A ftream, high-fpouting from its liquid bed,
And falling back again in drizzly dew:
There each deep draughts, as deep he thirfted, drew.
It was a fountain of Nepenthe rare :
Whence, as Dan Homer fings, huge pleafaunce grew. And fweet oblivion of vile earthly care; [more fair. Fair gladfome waking thoughts, and joyous dreams XXVIII.
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, through ball or glade! "Be no man's pleasure for another 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." XXIX.
Strait of thefe endless numbers, fwarming round,
As thick as idle motes in funny ray,
Not one eftfoons in view was to be found,
But every man stroll'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 dreamt you almost was constrain'd.
XXX. Aş
As when a fhepherd of the Hebrid-Ifles,
Plac'd far amid the melancholy main,
(Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles;
Or that aerial beings fometimes deign
To ftand embodied, to our fenfes plain)
Sees on the naked hill, or valley low,
The whilft in ocean Phoebus dips his wain,
A vaft affembly moving to and fro :
Then all at once in air diffolves the wondrous show,
XXXI.
Ye gods of quiet, and of fleep profound!
Whose foft dominion o'er this castle sways,
And all the widely-filent places round,
Forgive me, if my trembling pen difplays
What never yet was fung in mortal lays.
But how shall I attempt such arduous string,
I who have spent my nights and nightly days,
In this foul-deadening place, loofe-loitering?
Ah! how shall I for this uprear my moulted wing?
XXXII.
Come on, my Muse, nor ftoop to low despair,
Thou imp of Jove, touch'd by celestial 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 shalt tread in tragic pall the stage,
Paint love's enchanting woes, the hero's ire,
The fage's calm, the patriot's noble rage,
Dashing corruption down through every worthlefs age. VOL. I.
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 stretch'd around in feemly band;
And endless pillows rife to prop the head;
So that each spacious room was one full-fwelling-bed.
XXXIV.
And every where huge cover'd tables stood,
With wines high-flavour'd and rich viands crown'd;
Whatever sprightly juice or tafteful food
On the green bosom of this earth are found,
And all old ocean genders in his round:
Some hand unfeen thefe filently display'd,
Ev'n undemanded by a fign or found;
You need but wifh, and, inftantly obey'd,
Fair-rang'd the dishes rofe, and thick the glaffes play'd.
XXXV.
Here freedom reign'd, without the least alloy;
Nor goffip'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 should work his own defire,
And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it may fall,
Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre,
And carol what, unbid, the Muses might inspire.
XXXVI. The
The rooms with costly tapestry were hung,
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale;
Such as of old the rural poets fung,
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale:
Reclining lovers, in the lonely 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 refound their smart; While flocks, woods, ftreams, around, repose and peace
[impart. Those pleas'd the moft, where, by a cunning hand, Depainted was the patriarchal age;
What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee land,
And paftur'd on from verdant stage to stage,
Where fields and fourtains fresh could best engage.
Toil was not then. Of nothing took they heed,
But with wild beasts the sylvan war to wage,
And o'er vaft plains their herds and flocks to feed: Bleft fons of Nature they! true golden age indeed! XXXVIII.
Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls, Bade the gay bloom of vernal landskips rife, Or autumn's varied fhades imbrown the walls : Now the black tempeft ftrikes th' aftonish'd eyes Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies; The trembling fun now plays o'er ocean blue, And now rude mountains frown amid the skies; Whate'er Lorraine light-touch'd with softening hue, Or favage Rofa dash'd, or learned Pouffin drew. XXXIX. Each
Each found too here, to languishment inclin'd,
Lull'd the weak bofom, and induced ease.
Aerial mufic in the warbling wind,
At diftance rifing oft by fmall 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 please :
Entangled deep in its enchanting fnares,
The listening heart forgot all duties and all cares,
XL.
A certain mufic, never known before,
Here lull'd the penfive melancholy mind;
Full eafily 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 each mortal touch the most refin'd,
The god of winds drew founds of deep delight :
Whence, with juft caufe, the harp of Æolus it hight.
XLI.
Ah me! what hand can touch the ftring fo fine?
Who up the lofty diapafan 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, through the heart;
And now a graver sacred strain they stole,
As when feraphic hands an hymn impart :
Wild-warbling nature all, above the reach of art!
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