Now rising love they fann'd; now pleasing dole And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams, With fleecy clouds, the pure ethereal space; Here languid Beauty kept her pale-faced court: Where, from gross mortal care and business free, They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme, Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw, But, ah! too late, as shall eftsoons* be shown. A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground, Where still our inmates, when unpleasing grown, Diseased, and loathsome, privily were thrown. Far from the light of heaven, they languished there Unpitied, uttering many a bitter groan; For of these wretches taken was no care: Fierce fiends, and hags of hell, their only nurses were. * Eftsoons, imusdiately, often, afterwards. Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and rest, Stretched on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay, And his half-opened eyne he shut straightway; He led, I wot, the softest way to death, And taught withoutent pain and strife to yield the breath. Of limbs enormous, but withal unsound, Soft-swoln and pale, here lay the Hydropsy: Unwieldy man! with belly monstrous round, For ever fed with watery supply : For still he drank, and yet he still was dry, And moping here did Hypochondria sit, Mother of Spleen, in robes of various dye, Who vexed was full oft with ugly fit; And some her frantick deemed, and some her deemed a wit. A lady proud she was, of ancient blood, Yet oft her fear her pride made crouchent low; For sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes cry, Fast by her side a listless maiden pined, With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings; Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind, Yet loved 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 crammed Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox. *Eath, easy. + En is often placed at the end of a word by Spenser, to lengthen it a syllable. LESSON CCIII. Address of the Bard, in the train of Industry, to the inhabitants of the Castle of Indolence.-IBID. THE bard obeyed; and taking from his side, Light o'er the chords his raptured hand he flung, The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round him throng. Thus, ardent, burst his strain-" Ye hapless race: Dire labouring here to smother reason's ray, That lights our Maker's image in our face, And gives us wide o'er earth unquestioned sway, What is the adored Supreme Perfection? say, What, but eternal never-resting soul, Almighty power, and all-directing day, By whom each atom stirs, the planets roll; Come, to the beaming God your hearts unfold! To seraphs, burning round the Almighty's throne, Nor needeth proof: to prove it were, I wis,* To prove the beauteous world excels the brute abyss "Is not the field, with lively culture green, And fanned by sprightly Zephyrs, far surpass "It was not by vile loitering in ease, That Greece obtained the brighter palm of art, And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart : "Had unambitious mortals minded nought With brother-brutes the human race had grazed; None e'er had soared to fame, none honoured been, none praised. "Great Homer's song had never fired the breast To thirst of glory, and heroick deeds; Sweet Maro's Muse, sunk in inglorious rest, Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds, Our Shakspeare strolled and laughed with Warwick swains, Ne had my master Spenser charmed his Mulla's plains. "Dumb, too, had been the sage historick Muse, Through the dark depth of time their vivid flame, "But should to fame your hearts unfeeling be, Toil, and be glad! let Industry inspire Who does not act is dead: absorbed entire And exercise of health. In proof of this, Yet what but high-strung health this dancing pleasaunce* breeds? "But here, instead, is fostered every ill, Which or distempered 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 Wo: 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 publick sage debates, Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight-lamps, The world is poised, and managed 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. * Pleasaunce, pleasure. + Industry. |