1 Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest, To this dark den, where Sickness toss'd alway. Here Lethargy, with deadly sleep opprest, Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay, Heaving his sides, and snored night and day; To stir him from his traunce it was not eath, And his half-open'd eyne he shut straightway: He led, I wot, the softest way to death, And taught withouten pain and strife to yield the breath. Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound, For still he drank, and yet he still was dry. And some her frantic deem'd, and some her deem'd a wit. A lady proud she was, of ancient blood, / She felt, or fancied in her fluttering mood, For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry, Then sudden waxed wroth, and all she knew not why. Fast by her side a listless maiden pin'd, With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings; Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind, Yet lov'd in secret all forbidden things. And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings; The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks, A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent stings; Whilst Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox. CANTO II. The knight of arts and industry. And his achievements fair; That by his castle's overthrow, Secur'd, and crowned were. ESCAP'D the castle of the sire of sin, I now must sing of pleasure turn'd to pain, And of the false enchanter, Indolence, complain. Is there no patron to protect the Muse, They praised are alone, and starve right merrily. I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. Come then, my Muse, and raise a bolder song : Come, lig no more upon the bed of sloth, Dragging the lazy languid line along, Fond to begin, but still to finish loth, Thy half-writ scrolls all eaten by the moth: Arise, and sing that generous imp of Fame, Who with the sons of softness nobly wroth, To sweep away this human lumber came, Or in a chosen few to rouse the slumbering flame. In Fairy-land there liv'd a knight of old, He still in woods pursued the libbard and the boar. As he one morning, long before the dawn, Prick'd through the forest to dislodge his prey, Deep in the winding bosom of a lawn, With wood wild-fring'd, he mark'd a taper's ray, That from the beating rain, and wintery fray, Did to a lonely cot his steps decoy; There, up to earn the needments of the day, He found dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy: Her he compress'd, and fill'd her with a lusty boy Amid the greenwood shade this boy was bred, So pass'd his youthful morning, void of care, Ne did the sacred Nine disdain a gentle look. Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well, Was never knight on ground mote be with him compar'd. Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay Or strenuous wrestled hard with many a tough com peer. At other times he pry'd through Nature's store, Those moral seeds whence we heroic actions reap. Nor would he scorn to stoop from high pursuits Of heavenly Truth, and practise what she taught. Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits. Sometimes in hand the spade or plow he caught, Forth-calling all with which boon Earth is fraught; Sometimes he ply'd the strong mechanic tool, Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught; And oft he put himself to Neptune's school, Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean pool. To solace then these rougher toils, he try'd Accomplish'd thus he from the woods issued, No government, no laws, no gentle manners mild. A rugged wight, the worst of brutes, was man; It would exceed the purport of my song, But now, alas! we live too late in time: When as the knight had fram'd, in Britain-land, Then sought he from the toilsome scene to part, And let life's vacant eve breathe quiet through the heart. For this he chose a farm in Deva's vale, He walk'd his rounds, and cheer'd his blest domain! His days, the days of unstain'd nature, roll'd, Replete with peace and joy, like patriarchs of old. Witness, ye lowing herds, who gave him milk; Of public virtue much he dull'd the sense, Ev'n much of private; ate our spirit out, And fed our rank luxurious vices: whence The land was overlaid with many a lout; Not as old Fame reports, wise, generous, bold, and stout. A rage of pleasure madden'd every breast, man, The lackey, be more virtuous than his lord? Enjoy this span of life! 'tis all the gods afford." The tidings reach'd to where, in quiet hall, His ardent soul, and from his couch at once he breaks. "I will," he cried, "so help me God! destroy late Repentance comes; replevy cannot be From the strong iron grasp of vengeful Destiny. He came, the bard, a little druid-wight, Of wither'd aspect; but his eye was keen, With sweetness mix'd. In russet gown bedight As is his sister* of the copses green, He crept along, unpromising of mien. Gross he who judges so. His soul was fair, Bright as the children of yon azure sheen. True comeliness, which nothing can impair, Dwells in the mind; all else is vanity and glare. He pranc'd along, disdaining gate or bar. And much they moraliz'd as thus yfere they yode They talk'd of virtue, and of human bliss. What else so fit for man to settle well? And still their long researches met in this, This truth of truths, which nothing can refel: "From virtue's fount the purest joys out-well, Sweet rills of thought that cheer the conscious soul; While vice pours forth the troubled streams of Hell, The which, howe'er disguis'd, at last with dole Will, through the tortur'd breast, their fiery torrent roll." At length it dawn'd, that fatal valley gay, rear. On the cool height awhile our palmers stay, And spite ev'n of themselves their senses cheer; Then to the wizard's wonne their steps they steer. Like a green isle, it broad beneath them spread, 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. "As God shall judge me, knight, we must forgive" (The half-enraptur'd Philomelus cried) "The frail good man deluded here to live, And in these groves his musing fancy hide. Ah! nought is pure. It cannot be denied, That virtue still some tincture has of vice, And vice of virtue. What should then betide But that our charity be not too nice? Come, let us those we can to real bliss entice." "Ay, sicker," quoth the knight, "all flesh is frail, Who must in floods of fire his gross foul spirit lave." Thus, holding high discourse, they came to where The cursed carle was at his wonted trade; Still tempting heedless men into his snare, In witching wise, as I before had said. But when he saw, in goodly gear array'd, The grave majestic knight approaching nigh, And by his side the bard so sage and staid, His countenance fell; yet oft his anxious eye Mark'd them, like wily fox who roosted cock doth spy. Nathless, with feign'd respect, he bade give back The rabble-rout, and welcom'd them full kind; Struck with the noble twain, they were not slack His orders to obey, and fall behind. Then he resum'd his song; and unconfin'd, Pour'd all his music, ran through all his strings: With magic dust their eyne he tries to blind, And virtue's tender airs o'er weakness flings. What pity base his song who so divinely sings! Elate in thought, he counted them his own, They listen'd so intent with fix'd delight: But they instead, as if transmew'd to stone, Marvell'd he could with such sweet art unite The lights and shades of manners, wrong and right. Meantime, the silly crowd the charm devour, Wide pressing to the gate. Swift on the knight He darted fierce, to drag him to his bower, Who backening shunn'd his touch, for well he knew its power. As in throng'd amphitheatre of old, The wary Retiarius trapp'd his foe; Ev'n so the knight, returning on him bold, At once involv'd him in the net of woe, Whereof I mention made not long ago. Enrag'd at first, he scorn'd so weak a jail, And leapt, and flew, and flounced to and fro; But when he found that nothing could avail, He set him felly down, and gnaw'd his bitter nail Alarm'd, th' inferior demons of the place And lightnings flash'd, and horror rock'd the ground: Huge crowds on crowds out-pour'd, with blemish'd look, As if on time's last verge this frame of things had shook. Soon as the short-liv'd tempest was yspent, Steam'd from the jaws of vex'd Avernus' hole, And hush'd the hubbub of the rabblement, Sir Industry the first calm moment stole. "There must," he cried, "amid so vast a shoal, Be some who are not tainted at the heart, Not poison'd quite by this same villain's bowl: Come then, my bard, thy heavenly fire impart; Touch soul with soul, till forth the latent spirit start The bard obey'd; and taking from his side, The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round him throng. Thus, ardent, burst his strain, "Ye helpless race, "Come, to the beaming God your hearts unfold! "It was not by vile loitering in ease "Had unambitious mortals minded nought, With brother-brutes the human race had graz'd; None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honor'd been, none prais'd. "Great Homer's song had never fir'd the breast Ne had my master Spenser charm'd his Mulla's plains. "Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse, And perish'd all the sons of ancient fame; Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse Through the dark depth of time their vivid flame, Had all been lost with such as have no name. Who then had scorn'd his ease for others' good? Who then had toil'd rapacious men to tame? Who in the public breach devoted stood, And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood? "But should your hearts to fame unfeeling be, O leaden-hearted men to be in love with death! "But here, instead, is foster'd every ill, Which or distemper'd minds or bodies know. Come then, my kindred spirits! do not spill Your talents here. This place is but a show, Whose charms delude you to the den of woe: Come, follow me, I will direct you right, Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow, Sincere as sweet; come, follow this good knight, And you will bless the day that brought him to your sight. "Some he will lead to courts, and some to camps; To senates some, and public sage debates, Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight-lamps, The world is pois'd, and manag'd mighty states; To high discovery some, that new-creates The face of Earth; some to the thriving mart; Some to the rural reign, and softer fates; To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart; All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art. "There are, I see, who listen to my lay, Who wretched sigh for virtue, but despair. All may be done,' methinks I hear them say, Ev'n death despis'd by generous actions fair; All, but for those who to these bowers repair, Their every power dissolv'd in luxury, To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair, And from the powerful arms of sloth get free. "Tis rising from the dead :-Alas!-it cannot be !" "Would you then learn to dissipate the band Of these huge threatening difficulties dire, That in the weak man's way like lions stand, His soul appal, and damp his rising fire? Resolve, resolve, and to be men aspire. Exert that noblest privilege, alone, Here to mankind indulg'd: control desire: Let godlike Reason, from her sovereign throne, Speak the commanding word-I will and it is done. "Heavens! can you then thus waste, in shameful wise, Your few important days of trial here? |