"Come, ye, who still the cumberous load of life Push hard up hill ; but as the farthest steep You trust to gain, and put an end to strife, Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep, And hurls your labours to the valley deep, For-ever vain: come, and, withouten fee, Your cares, your toils, will steep you in a sea Of full delight: O come, ye weary wights, to me! "With me, you need not rise at early dawn, To pass the joyless day in various stounds: Or, louting low, on upstart fortune fawn, And sell fair honour for some paltry pounds; Or through the city take your dirty rounds, To cheat, and dun, and lie, and visit pay, Now flattering base, now giving secret wounds: Or prowl in courts of law for human prey, In venal senate thieve, or rob on broad highway. "No cocks, with me, to rustic labour call, From village on to village sounding clear: To tardy swain no shrill-voic'd matrons squall; No dogs, no babes, no wives, to stun your ear; No hammers thump; no horrid blacksmith fear, Ne noisy tradesmen your sweet slumbers start, With sounds that are a misery to hear: But all is calm, as would delight the heart Of Sybarite of old, all nature, and all art. "Here nought but candour reigns, indulgent ease, Goodnatur'd lounging, sauntering up and down : They who are pleas'd themselves must always please; On others' ways they never squint a frown, Is sooth'd and sweeten'd by the social sense; "What, what is virtue, but repose of mind, A pure ethereal calm, that knows no storm; Above the reach of wild ambition's wind, Above the passions that this world deform, And torture man, a proud malignant worm? But here, instead, soft gales of passion play, And gently stir the heart, thereby to form A quicker sense of joy; as breezes stray Across th' enliven'd skies, and make them still more gay. "The best of men have ever lov'd repose: They hate to mingle in the filthy fray; Where the soul sours, and gradual rancour grows, Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day. Ev'n those whom Fame has lent her fairest ray, The most renown'd of worthy wights of yore, From a base world at last have stol'n away: So Scipio, to the soft Cumaan shore Retiring, tasted joy he never knew before. "But if a little exercise you choose, Some zest for ease, 'tis not forbidden here. sigh, Attuned to the birds, and woodland melody. "O grievous folly! to heap up estate, To toil for what you here untoiling may obtain." He ceas'd. But still their trembling ears retain'd The deep vibrations of his witching song; That, by a kind of magic power, constrain'd To enter in, pell-mell, the listening throng, Heaps pour'd on heaps, and yet they slipt along, In silent ease: as when beneath the beam Of summer-moons, the distant woods among, Or by some flood all silver'd with the gleam, The soft-embodied fays through airy portal stream: VOL. IV. By the smooth demon so it order'd was, Though some there were who would not further pass, And his alluring baits suspected han. The wise distrust the too fair spoken man. When this the watchful wicked wizard saw, With sudden spring he leap'd upon them straight; And soon as touch'd by his unhallow'd paw, They found themselves within the cursed gate; Full hard to be repass'd, like that of fate. Not stronger were of old the giant crew, Who sought to pull high Jove from regal state; Though, feeble wretch, he seem'd of sallow hue: Certes, who bides his grasp, will that encounter rue. For whomso'er the villain takes in hand, Then sighing yields her up to love's delicious harms. Wak'd by the crowd, slow from his bench arose Then taking his black staff he call'd his man, The lad leap'd lightly at his master's call. Save sleep and play who minded nought at all, And which his portly paunch would not permit, So this same limber page to all performed it. Meantime the master-porter wide display'd fain, Sir porter sat him down, and turn'd to sleep again. |