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Full in the passage of the vale, above,

A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;

Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to move,
As Idlesse fancied in her dreaming mood:
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,

The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.

A pleasing land of drowsy-head1 it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky:
There eke the soft delights, that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures, always hovered nigh;
But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest,
Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.

The landscape such, inspiring perfect ease,
Where Indolence (for so the wizard hight)
Close hid his castle mid embowering trees,
That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright,
And made a kind of checkered day and night.
Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate,
Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked wight
Was placed; and to his lute, of cruel fate,
And labour harsh, complained, lamenting man's estate.

The doors, that knew no shrill alarming bell,
Ne cursed knocker, plied by villain's hand,
Self-opened into halls, where, who can tell
What elegance and grandeur wide expand,
The pride of Turkey and of Persia land?
Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread,
And couches stretched around in seemly band;
And endless pillows rise to prop the head;

So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed.

(1) Drowsy-head-or drowsy-hed, as Spenser spells it-drowsiness.

(2) Villain-perhaps from the Latin vilis, mean, contemptible, though some derive it from villanus, a countryman-in the original sense, a farm-servant, or, as here, a servant in general.

And everywhere huge covered tables stood,
With wines high-flavoured and rich viands crowned;
Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food
On the green bosom of this earth are found,
And all old ocean genders in his round:
Some hand unseen these silently displayed,
Even undemanded by a sign or sound;
You need but wish, and, instantly obeyed,

Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the glasses played.

The rooms with costly tapestry were hung,
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale;
Such as of old the rural poets sung,
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale:
Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale,

Poured forth at large the sweetly-tortured heart; Or, sighing tender passion, swelled the gale, And taught charmed Echo to resound their smart, While flocks, woods, streams, around, repose and peace impart.

Those pleased the most, where, by a cunning hand,
Depainted was the patriarchal age;

What time Dan1 Abraham left the Chaldee land,
And pastured on from verdant stage to stage,
Where fields and fountains 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 vast plains their herds and flocks to feed;
Blest sons of nature they! true golden age indeed!

Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls,
Bade the gay gloom of vernal landscapes rise,
Or autumn's varied shades imbrown the walls:
Now the black tempest strikes the astonished eyes,
Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies;
The trembling sun now plays o'er ocean blue,
And now rude mountains frown amid the skies;

(1) Dan-or Don, a corruption of the Latin dominus, a lord—a title of respect and honour, equivalent to, Sir.

Whate'er Lorraine' light-touched with softening hue, Or savage Rosa2 dashed, or learned Poussin3 drew.

Each sound, too, here to languishment inclined,
Lulled the weak bosom, and induced ease.
Aërial music in the warbling wind,

At distance rising, oft by small degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees
It hung, and breathed such soul-dissolving airs,
As did, alas! with soft perdition please:
Entangled deep in its enchanting snares,
The listening heart forget all duties and all cares.

A certain music, never known before,
Here lulled the pensive melancholy mind;
Full easily obtained; behoves no more,
But sidelong, to the gently-waving wind,
To lay the well-tuned instrument reclined;
From which, with airy-flying fingers light,
Beyond each mortal touch the most refined,
The god of winds drew sounds of deep delight;
Whence, with just cause, the harp of Æolus it hight.

Ah, me! what hand can touch the string so fine?
Who up
the lofty diapason" roll

Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine,
Then let them down again into the soul?

Now rising love they fanned; now pleasing dole

They breathed, in tender musings, through the heart;
And now a graver, sacred strain they stole,
As when seraphic hands a hymn impart :
Wild-warbling nature all, above the reach of art!

(1) Lorraine-Claude Lorraine, generally called Claude, an eminent French landscape painter, whose main characteristic was, perhaps, the "softening hue" cast over his pictures, which fuses down all inequality and roughness, and leaves only the graceful and beautiful behind.

(2) Savage Rosa-Salvator Rosa, an Italian painter, famed for depicting the wild and the terrible in nature.

(3) Learned Poussin-Nicholas Poussin, a very distinguished French painter, whose profound acquaintance with the principles of his art justly claims for him the epithet" learned."

(4) A certain music, &c.-Here follows a description of the Æolian harp. (5) Diapason-See note 2, p. 159.

(6) Dole-melancholy.

Such the gay splendour, the luxurious state
Of caliphs old, who on the Tigris' shore,
In mighty Bagdad, populous and great,

Held their bright court, where was of ladies store;1
And verse, love, music, still the garland wore;
When sleep was coy, the bard in waiting there
Cheered the lone midnight with the muse's lore;
Composing music bade his dreams be fair,

And music lent new gladness to the morning air.

Near the pavilions where we slept, still ran
Soft-tinkling streams, and dashing waters fell,
And sobbing breezes sighed, and oft began
(So worked the wizard) wintry storms to swell,
Às heaven and earth they would together mell;2
At doors and windows threatening seemed to call
The demons of the tempest, growling fell,

Yet the least entrance found they none at all;
Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy hall.

COLLINS.

PRINCIPAL EVENTS OF HIS LIFE.-William Collins was born in 1721, at Chichester. His early education at Winchester school, under Dr. Burton, prepared him for the collegiate course which he commenced in 1740, at Oxford. In 1743 or 1744 he came to London, "a literary adventurer," says Dr. Johnson, "with many projects in his head, and very little money in his pocket." Indolence and irresolution paralysed his eminent powers, and often reduced him to a pitiable state of helplessness and want. He was, moreover, disappointed in the reception given by the public to the works which he did finish and send forth, and morbidly judged that he had "fallen on evil tongues and evil times." The result of these combined causes was his relapse into a state of imbecility, occasionally interrupted by paroxysms of frenzy, which lasted until his death, in 1756, at his native town.

(1) Of ladies store-An expression borrowed from Milton. See p. 309. (2) Mell or mall-from the Latin malleus, a hammer-to bruise, crash.

PRINCIPAL WORKS-Collins' poems are all of moderate compass and of the lyrical form. The most admired are the odes entitled, "To Fear," "On the Poetical Character," "To Liberty," "To Evening," "The Passions," "On the Death of Thomson," and "On the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands of Scotland."

CHARACTERISTIC SPIRIT AND STYLE.-"Collins had employed his mind chiefly upon works of fiction, and subjects of fancy; and, by indulging some peculiar habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those flights of imagination which pass the bounds of nature, and to which the mind is reconciled only by a passive acquiescence in popular traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters; he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens."

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A cloud of obscurity sometimes rests on his highest conceptions, arising from the fineness of his associations, and the daring sweep of his allusions; but the shadow is transitory, and interferes very little with the light of his imagery, or the warmth of his feeling. The absence of even this speck of mysticism from his 'Ode on the Passions' is perhaps the happy circumstance that secured its unbounded popularity.

"His genius loved to breathe rather in the preternatural and ideal element of poetry, than in the atmosphere of imitation, which lies closest to real life and his notions of poetical excellence, whatever vows he might address to the manners, were still tending to the vast, the undefinable, and the abstract. Certainly, however, he carried sensibility and tenderness into the highest regions of abstracted thought: his enthusiasm spreads a glow even amongst the shadowy tribes of mind,' and his allegory is as sensible to the heart as it is visible to the fancy."2

(1) Dr. Johnson. "Lives of the Poets."
(2) Campbell. "Specimens," &c., p. 429.

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