While he, from out the chimney took,
A flitch of bacon off the hook;
Then stepped aside to fetch 'em drink;
Filled a large jug up to the brink
And saw it fairly twice go round.
Yet (what is wonderful) they found
'Twas still replenished to the top,
As if they had not touched a drop.
The good old couple were amazed
And often on each other gazed,
For both were frightened to the heart
And just began to cry "What art?"
The gentle pilgrims soon aware on't,
Told them their calling and their errant:
"Good folks, ye need not be afraid,
We are but saints," the hermits said.
"No hurt shall come to you or yours;
But for that pack of churlish boors,
Not fit to live on Christian ground,
They and their houses shall be drowned;
Whilst you shall see your cottage rise
And grow a church before your eyes."
They scarce had spoke when, fair and soft,
The roof began to mount aloft;
The chimney widened and grew higher,
Became a steeple with a spire;
The chimney to a steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone,
But up against the steeple reared
Became a clock, and still adhered.
But still its love to household cares,
By a shrill voice at noon declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roast meat which it cannot turn.
The groaning chair began to crawl
Like a huge snail upon the wall;
There stuck aloft, in public view,
And, with small change a pulpit grew.
A bedstead of the antique mode
Compact of timber, many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphosed into pews.
The cottage by such feats as these
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desired their host
To ask for what he fancied most.
Philemon, having paused awhile
Returned them thanks in homely style,
Then said: "My house is grown so fine,
Methinks I still would call it mine.
I'm old, and fain would live at ease,
Make me the parson, if you please."
He spoke; and presently he feels
His grazier's coat fall down his heels;
He sees, yet hardly can believe,
About each arm a pudding-sleeve;
His waistcoat to a cassock grew,
And both assumed a sable hue.
His talk was now of tithes and dues,
He smoked his pipe and read the news;
Knew how to preach old sermons next,
Vamped in the preface and the text.
Thus having furnished up a parson
Dame Baucis next they played their farce on.
Her petticoat transformed apace,
Became black satin, flounced with lace;
Plain Goody would no longer down
'Twas Madam in her grosgrain gown.
Thus, happy in their change of life,
Were several years this man and wife;
When on a day which proved their last,
Discoursing o'er old stories past,
They went by chance, amidst their talk,
To the churchyard to take a walk;
When Baucis hastily cried out:
"My dear, I see your forehead sprout!"
"Sprout!" quoth the man, "what's that you tell us?
I hope you don't believe me jealous;
But yet, methinks, I feel it true;
And really yours is budding, too.
Nay, now I cannot stir my foot,
It feels as if 'twere taking root ! "
Description would but tire my muse;
In short they both were turned to yews!
Old Goodman Dobson, of the green,
Remembers he the trees has seen.
On Sundays, after evening prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew,
"Here Baucis, there Philemon grew,
Till once a parson of our town,
To mend his barn, cut Baucis down.
At which 'tis hard to be believed
How much the other tree was grieved,
Grew scrubby, died a-top, was stunted;
So the next parson stubbed and burnt it."
WHAT dire offence from amorous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things!
Say, what strange motive, goddess, could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
O say, what stranger cause, yet unexplored,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray,
And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day.
Belinda still her downy pillow prest;
Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest.
He seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say:
"Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!
Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star
I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
Ere to the main this morning sun descend.
But Heaven reveals not what, or how, or where;
Warned by the sylph, O pious maid, beware!
This to disclose is all thy guardian can;
Beware of all, but most beware of man!"
He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his tongue.
Fair nymphs and well-dressed youths around her shone,
But every eye was fixed on her alone.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those.
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide;
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face and you'll forget them all.
This nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
Nourished two locks, which graceful hung behind
In equal curls and well conspired to deck
With shining ringlets the smooth, ivory neck.
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.
The adventurous baron the bright locks admired;
He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired.
Resolved to win; sure, if success his toil attends,
Few will ask if fraud or force attained his ends.
On silver Thames the zephyrs gently play;
Belinda smiles, and all the world is gay-
All but the sylph-with careful thoughts opprest,
Th' impending woe sat heavy on his breast.
He summons straight his denizens of air;
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair:
"Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief give ear!
Fays, fairies, genii, elves and demons, hear!
Ye know the spheres and various tasks assigned
By laws eternal to the aërial kind.
This day black omens threat the brightest fair
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care;
Some dire disaster, or by force or flight;
But what or where the fates have wrapt in night.
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law,
Or some frail china jar receive a flaw,
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