Canto II (CANTO II…)

CANTO II. The Knight of Arts and Industry, And his Atchievements fair; That, by this Castle's Overthrow, Secur'd, and crowned were.

I. the Castle of the Sire of Sin, Ah! where shall I so sweet a Dwelling find? For all around, without, and all within, Nothing save what delightful was and kind, Of Goodness savouring and a tender Mind, E'er rose to View. But now another Strain, Of doleful Note, alas! remains behind: I now must sing of Pleasure turn'd to Pain,

II.Is there no Patron to protect the Muse, And fence for Her Parnassus barren Soil? To every Labour its Reward accrues, And they are sure of Bread who swink and moil; But a fell Tribe th' Aonian Hive despoil, As ruthless Wasps oft rob the painful Bee: Thus while the Laws not guard that noblest Toil Ne for the Muses other decree,

III.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 shews 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;

IV.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 , 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,

V.In Fairy-Land there liv'd a Knight of old, Of Feature stern, Selvaggio well yclep'd, A rough unpolish'd Man, robust and bold, But wondrous poor: he neither sow'd nor reap'd, Ne Stores in Summer for cold Winter heap'd; In Hunting all his Days away he wore; Now scorch'd by June, now in November steep'd, Now pinch'd by biting January sore,

VI.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 marked a Taper's Ray, That from the beating Rain, and wintry Fray, Did to a lonely Cott his Steps decoy; There, up to earn the Needments of the Day, He found Dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy:

VII.Amid the green-wood Shade this Boy was bred, And grew at last a Knight of muchel Fame, Of active Mind and vigorous , The Knight of Arts and Industry by Name. Earth was his Bed, the Boughs his Roof did frame; He knew no Beverage but the flowing Stream; His tasteful well-earn'd Food the silvan Game, Or the brown Fruit with which the Wood-Lands teem:

VIII.So pass'd his youthly Morning, void of Care, Wild as the Colts that through the Commons run: For him no tender Parents troubled were, He of the Forest seem'd to be the Son, And certes had been utterly undone; But that Minerva Pity of him took, With all the Gods that love the Rural Wonne, That teach to tame the Soil and rule the Crook;

IX.Of fertile Genius him they nurtur'd well, In every Science, and in every Art, By which Mankind the thoughtless Brutes excel, That can or Use, or Joy, or Grace impart, Disclosing all the Powers of Head and Heart. Ne were the goodly Exercises spar'd, That brace the Nerves, or make the Limbs alert, And mix elastic Force with Firmness hard:

X.Sometimes, with early Morn, he mounted gay The Hunter-steed, exulting o'er the Dale, And drew the Breath of orient Day; Sometimes, retiring to the secret Vale, Yclad in Steel and bright with burnish'd Mail, He strain'd the Bow, or toss'd the sounding Spear, Or darting on the Goal outstrip'd the Gale, Or wheel'd the Chariot in its Mid-Career,

XI.At other Times he pry'd through Nature's Store, Whate'er she in th' Etherial Round contains, Whate'er she hides beneath her verdant Floor, The vegetable and the mineral Reigns; Or else he scann'd the Globe, those small Domains, Where restless Mortals such a Turmoil keep, Its Seas, its Floods, its Mountains, and its Plains; But more he search'd the Mind, and rous'd from Sleep

XII.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 Plough he caught, Forth-calling all with which boon Earth is fraught; Sometimes he ply'd the strong mechanic Tool, Or rear'd the Fabrick from the finest Draught; And oft he put himself to Neptunes School,

XIII.To solace then these rougher Toils, he try'd To touch the kindling Canvass into Life; With Nature his creating Pencil vy'd, With Nature joyous at the mimic Strife: Or, to such Shapes as grac'd Pygmalions Wife, He hew'd the Marble; or, with vary'd Fire, He rous'd the Trumpet and the martial , Or the Lute sweet Tenderness inspire,

XIV.Accomplish'd thus he from the Woods issu'd, Full of great Aims, and bent on bold ; The Work, which long he in his Breast had brew'd, Now to perform he ardent did devise; To-wit, a barbarous World to civilize. Earth was till Then a boundless Forest wild; Nought to be seen but savage Wood, and Skies; No Cities nourish'd Arts, no Culture smil'd,

XV.A rugged Wight, the Worst of Brutes, was Man: On his own wretched Kind he, ruthless, prey'd; The Strongest still the Weakest over-ran; In every Country mighty Robbers sway'd. And Guile and ruffian Force were all their Trade. Life was not Life, but Rapine, Want, and Woe; Which this brave Knight, in noble Anger, made To swear, he would the rascal Rout o'erthrow,

XVI.It would exceed the Purport of my Song, To say how this best Sun, from orient Climes, Came beaming Life and Beauty all along, Before him chasing Indolence and Crimes. Still as he pass'd, the Nations he sublimes, And calls forth Arts and Virtue with his Ray: Then Egypt, Greece and Rome their Golden Times, Successive, had; but now in Ruins grey

XVII.To crown his Toils, Sir Industry then spred The swelling Sail, and made for Britain's Coast. A Sylvan Life till then the Natives led, In the brown Shades and green-wood Forest lost, All careless rambling where it lik'd them most: Their Wealth the Wild-Deer bouncing through the Glade; They lodg'd at large, and liv'd at Nature's Cost; Save Spear, and Bow, withouten other aid,

XVIII.He lik'd the Soil, he lik'd the clement Skies, He lik'd the verdant Hills and flowery Plains. Be This my great my chosen Isle (he cries) This, whilst my Labours Liberty sustains, This Queen of Ocean all Assault disdains. Not lik'd he less the Genius of the Land, To Freedom apt and persevering Pains, Mild to obey, and generous to command,

XIX.Here, by Degrees, his Master-Work arose, Whatever Arts and Industry can frame: Whatever finish'd Agriculture knows, Fair Queen of Arts! from Heaven itself who came, When Eden flourish'd in unspotted Fame: And still with Her sweet Innocence we find, And tender Peace, and Joys without a Name, That, while they rapture, tranquillize the Mind;

XX.Then Towns he quicken'd by mechanic Arts, And bade the fervent City glow with Toil; Bade social Commerce raise renowned Marts, Join Land to Land, and marry Soil to Soil, Unite the Poles, and without bloody Spoil Bring home of either Ind the gorgeous Stores; Or, should Despotic Rage the World embroil, Bade Tyrants tremble on remotest Shores,

XXI.The drooping Muses then he westward call'd, From the fam'd City by Propontis Sea, What Time the Turk th'enfeebled Grecian thrall'd; Thence from their cloister'd Walks he set them free, And brought them to another Castalie: Where Isis many a famous Noursling breeds; Or where old Cam soft-paces o'er the Lea, In pensive Mood, and tunes his Doric Reeds,

XXII.Yet the fine Arts were what he finish'd least. For why? They are the Quintessence of All, The Growth of labouring Time, and slow increast; Unless, as seldom chances, it should fall, That mighty Patrons the coy Sisters call Up to the Sun-shine of uncumber'd Ease, Where no rude Care the mounting Thought may thrall, And where they nothing have to do but please:

But now, alas! we live too late in Time: Our Patrons now even grudge that little Claim, Except to such as sleek the soothing Rhyme; And yet, forsooth, they wear Mæcenas' Name, Poor Sons of puft-up Vanity, not Fame! Unbroken Spirits, chear! still, still remains Th' Eternal Patron, Liberty; whose Flame, While she protects, inspired the noblest Strains.

XXIV.Whenas the Knight has fram'd, in Britain-Land, A matchless Form of glorious Government; In which the sovereign Laws alone command, Laws stablish'd by the public free Consent, Whose Majesty is to the Sceptre lent: When this great Plan, with each dependent Art, Was settled firm, and to his Heart's Content, Then sought he from the toilsome Scene to part,

XXV.For This he chose a Farm in Devas Vale, Where his long Alleys peep'd upon the Main. In this calm Seat he drew the healthful Gale, Commix'd the Chief, the Patriot, and the , The happy Monarch of his Sylvan Train! Here, sided by the Guardians of the Fold, He walk'd his Rounds, and chear'd his blest Domain, His Days, the Days of unstain'd Nature, roll'd

XXVI.Witness, ye lowing Herds, who lent him Milk; Witness, ye Flocks, whose woolly Vestments far Exceed soft India’s Cotton, or her Silk; Witness, with Autumn charg'd, the nodding Car, That homeward came beneath sweet Evening's Star, Or of september-Moons the Radiance mild. O hide thy Head, abominable War! Of Crimes and ruffian Idleness the Child!

XXVII.Nor, from his deep Retirement, banish'd was Th' amusing Cares of Rural Industry. Still, as with grateful Change the Seasons pass, New Scenes arise, new strike the Eye, And all th' enliven'd Country beautify: Gay Plains extend where Marshes slept before; O'er recent Meads th' exulting Streamlets fly; Dark frowning Heaths grow bright with Ceres' store,

XXVIII.As nearer to his Farm you made Approach, He polish'd Nature with a finer Hand: Yet on her Beauties durst not Art incroach; 'Tis Art's alone these Beauties to expand. In graceful Dance immingled, o'er the Land, Pan, Pales, Flora, and Pomona play'd: Even here, sometimes, the rude wild Common An happy Place; where free, and unafraid,

But in prime Vigour what can last for ? That foul-enfeebling Wizard Indolence, I whilom sung, wrought in his Works decay: Spred far and wide was his curs'd Influence; Of Public Virtue much he dull'd the Sense, Even much of Private; eat our Spirit out, And fed our rank luxurious Vices: whence The Land was overlaid with many a Lout;

XXX.A Rage of Pleasure madden'd every Breast, Down to the lowest Lees the Ferment ran: To his licentious Wish Each must be blest, With Joy be fever'd; snatch it as he can. Thus Vice the Standard rear'd; her Arrier-Ban Corruption call'd, and loud she gave the Word. "Mind, mind yourselves! Why should the vulgar Man, "The be more virtuous than his Lord?

XXXI.The Tidings reach'd to Where in quiet Hall, The good old Knight enjoy'd well-earn'd Repose. "Come, come, Sir Knight! thy Children on thee call; "Come, save us yet, ere Ruin round us close! "The Demon Indolence thy Toils o'erthrows." On this the noble Colour stain'd his Cheeks, Indignant, glowing through the whitening Snows Of venerable ; his Eye full speaks

XXXII."I will, (he cry'd) so help me, God! destroy "That Villain Archimage!—His Page then strait He to him call'd, a fiery-footed Boy, Benempt Dispatch. "My Steed be at the gate; "My Bard attend; quick, bring the Net of Fate." This Net was twisted by the Sisters Three; Which when once cast o'er harden'd Wretch, too late Repentance comes: cannot be

XXXIII.He came, the Bard, a little Druid-Wight, Of wither'd Aspect; but his Eye was keen, With Sweetness mix'd. In Russet brown , 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,

XXXIV.Come! (quoth the Knight) a Voice has reach'd mine Ear, The Demon Indolence threats Overthrow To all that to Mankind is good and dear: Come, Philomelus! let us instant go, O'erturn his Bowers, and lay his Castle low! Those Men, those wretched Men! who will be Slaves, Must drink a bitter wrathful Cup of Woe: But some there be, thy Song, as from their Graves,

XXXV.Issuing forth, the Knight bestrode his Steed Of ardent Bay, and on whose Front a Star Shone blazing bright: Sprung from the generous Breed That whirl of active Day the rapid Car, He pranc'd along, disdaining Gate or Bar. Meantime, the Bard on milk-white rode; An honest sober Beast, that did not mar His Meditations, but full softly trode:

XXXVI.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 : "From Virtue's Fount the purest Joys out-well, "Sweet Rills of Thought that chear the conscious Soul; "While Vice pours forth the troubled Streams of Hell, "The which, howe'er disguis'd, at last with Dole

XXXVII.At length it dawn'd, that fatal Valley gay, O'er which high wood-crown'd Hills their Summits rear. On the cool Height awhile our stay, And spite even of themselves their Senses chear; Then to the Wizard's Wonne their Steps they steer. Like a green Isle, it broad beneath them spred, With Gardens round, and wandering Currents clear, And tufted Groves to shade the Meadow-Bed,

XXXVIII."As God shall judge me, Knight, we must forgive (The half-enraptur'd Philomelus cry'd) "The frail good Man deluded here to live, "And in these Groves his musing Fancy hide. "Ah, Nought is pure! It cannot be deny'd, "That Virtue still some Tincture has of Vice, "And Vice of Virtue. What should then betide, "But that our Charity be not too nice?

XXXIX."Ay, sicker, (quoth the Knight) all Flesh is frail, "To pleasant Sin and joyous Dalliance bent; "But let not brutish Vice of This avail, "And think to scape deserved Punishment. Justice were cruel weakly to relent; "From Mercy’s Self she got her sacred Glaive: "Grace be to Those who can, and will, repent; "But Penance long, and dreary, to the Slave,

XL.Thus, holding high Discourse, they came to Where The cursed was at his wonted Trade; Still tempting heedless Men into his Snare, In witching , as I before have said. But when he saw, in goodly Geer 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

XLI.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 he tries to blind, And Virtue's tender Airs o'er Weakness flings.

XLII.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, Marvel'd he could, with such sweet Art, unite The Lights and Shades of Manners, Wrong and Right. Mean time, the silly Croud the Charm devour, Wide-pressing to the Gate. Swift, on the Knight He darted fierce, to drag him to his Bower,

XLIII.As in throng'd Amphitheatre, of old, The wary Retiarius trap'd his Foe; Even 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 leap'd, and flew, and flounced to and fro; But when he found that nothing could avail,

XLIV.Alarm'd, th' inferior Demons of the Place Rais'd rueful Shrieks and hideous Yells around; Black ruptur'd Clouds deform'd the Face, And from beneath was heard a wailing Sound, As of Infernal Sprights in Cavern bound; A solemn Sadness every Creature , And Lightnings flash'd, and Horror rock'd the Ground: Huge Crouds on Crouds out-pour'd, with blemish'd Look,

XLV.Soon as the short-liv'd Tempest was , Steam'd from the Jaws of vext Avernus' Hole, And hush'd the Hubbub of the Rabblement, Sir Industry the first calm Moment stole. "There must, (he cry'd) 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;

XLVI.The Bard obey'd; and taking from his Side, Where it in seemly Sort depending hung, His British Harp, its speaking Strings he try'd, The which with skilful Touch he strung, Till tinkling in clear Symphony they rung. Then, as he felt the Muses come along, Light o'er the Chords his raptur'd Hand he flung, And play'd a Prelude to his rising Song:

XLVII.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 unquestion'd Sway; "What is th' ador'd supreme Perfection, say? "What, but eternal never-resting Soul, "Almighty Power, and all-directing Day; "By whom each Atom stirs, the Planets roll;

XLVIII."Come, to the beaming God your Hearts unfold! "Draw from its Fountain Life! 'Tis thence, alone, "We can excel. Up from unfeeling Mold, "To Seraphs burning round th'Almighty's Throne, "Life rising still on Life, in higher Tone, "Perfection forms, and with Perfection Bliss. "In Universal Nature This clear , "Not needeth Proof: To prove it were, I wis,

XLIX."Is not the Field, with lively Culture green, "A Sight more joyous than the dead Morass? "Do not the Skies, with active Ether clean, "And fan'd by sprightly , far surpass "The foul November-Fogs, and slumbrous Mass, "With which sad Nature veils her drooping Face? "Does not the Mountain-Stream, as clear as Glass, "Gay-dancing on, the putrid Pool disgrace?

L."It was not by vile Loitering in Ease, "That Greece obtain'd the brighter Palm of Art, "That soft yet ardent Athens learn'd to please, "To keen the Wit, and to sublime the Heart, "In all supreme! compleat in every Part! "It was not thence majestic Rome arose, "And o'er the Nations shook her conquering Dart: "For Sluggard's Brow the Laurel never grows;

LI."Had unambitious Mortals minded Nought, "But in loose Joy their Time to wear away; "Had they alone the Lap of Dalliance sought, "Pleas'd on her Pillow their dull Heads to lay: "Rude Nature's State had been our State To-day; "No Cities e'er their towery Fronts had rais'd, "No Arts had made us opulent and gay; "With Brother-Brutes the Human Race had graz'd;

LII."Great Homer's Song had never fir'd the Breast, "To Thirst of Glory, and heroic Deeds; "Sweet Maro's Muse, sunk in inglorious Rest, "Had silent slept amid the Mincian Reeds: "The Wits of modern Time had told their Beads, "And monkish Legends been their only Strains; "Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in Weeds, "Our Shakespear stroll'd and laugh'd with Warwick Swains,

LIII."Dumb too had been the sage Historic Muse, "And perish'd all the Sons of 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,

LIV."But should to Fame your Hearts impervious be, "If right I read, you Pleasure All require: "Then hear how best may be obtain'd this Fee, "How best enjoy'd this Nature's wide Desire. "Toil, and be glad! Let Industry inspire "Into your quicken'd Limbs her buoyant Breath! "Who does not act is dead; absorpt "In miry Sloth, no Pride no Joy he hath:

LV."Better the toiling Swain, oh happier far! "Perhaps the happiest of the Sons of Men! "Who vigorous plies the Plough, the Team, or Car; "Who the Field, or ditches in the Glen, "Delves in his Garden, or secures his Pen: "The Tooth of Avarice poisons not his Peace; "He tosses not in Sloth's abhorred Den; "From Vanity he has a full Release;

LVI."Good Lord! how keen are his Sensations all! "His Bread is sweeter than the Glutton's ; "The Wines of France upon the Palate pall, "Compar'd with What his simple Soul elates, "The native Cup whose Flavour Thirst creates; "At one deep Draught of Sleep he takes the Night; "And for that Heart-felt Joy which Nothing mates, "Of the pure nuptial Bed the chaste Delight,

LVII."But what avail the largest Gifts of Heaven, "When sickening Health and Spirits go amiss? "How tasteless then Whatever can be given? "Health is the vital Principle of Bliss, "And Exercise of Health. In Proof of This, "Behold the Wretch, who slugs his Life away, "Soon swallow'd in Disease's sad Abyss; "While he whom Toil has brac'd, or manly Play,

LVIII."O who can speak the vigorous Joys of Health! "Unclogg'd the Body, unobscur'd the Mind: "The Morning rises gay; with pleasing Stealth, "The temperate Evening falls serene and kind. "In Health the wiser Brutes true Gladness find. "See! how the Younglings frisk along the , "As May comes on, and wakes the balmy Wind; "Rampant with Life, their Joy all Joy exceeds:

LIX."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 , "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,

LX."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:

LXI."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) "Even 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.

LXII."Would you then learn to dissipate the Band "Of these huge threat'ning Difficulties dire, "That in the weak Man's Way like Lions stand, "His Soul appall, and damp his rising Fire? "Resolve! resolve! and to be Men aspire! "Exert the noblest Privilege, alone, "Here to Mankind indulg'd: controul Desire; "Let Godlike Reason, from her sovereign Throne,

LXIII."Heavens! can you then thus waste, in shameful wise, "Your few important Days of Trial here? "Heirs of Eternity! yborn to rise "Through endless States of Being, still more near "To Bliss approaching, and Perfection clear, "Can you renounce a Fortune so sublime, "Such glorious Hopes, your backward Steps to steer, "And roll, with vilest Brutes, through Mud and Slime?

LXIV."Enough! enough! they cry'd"—Strait, from the Croud, The better Sort on Wings of Transport fly. As when amid the lifeless Summits proud Of Alpine Cliffs, where to the Sky Snows pil'd on Snows in wintry Torpor lie, The Rays divine of vernal Phœbus play; Th' awaken'd Heaps, in Streamlets from on high, Rous'd into Action, lively leap away,

LXV.Not less the Life, the vivid Joy serene, That lighted up these new-created Men, Than That which wings th'exulting Spirit clean, When, just deliver'd from this fleshly Den, It soaring seeks its native Skies . How light its Essence! how unclogg'd its Powers! Beyond the Blazon of my mortal Pen: Even so we glad forsook these sinful Bowers,

LXVI.But far the greater Part, with Rage inflam'd, Dire-mutter'd Curses, and blasphem'd high Jove. "Ye Sons of Hate! (They bitterly exclaim'd) "What brought you to this Seat of Peace and Love? "While with kind Nature, here amid the Grove, "We pass'd the harmless Sabbath of our Time, "What to disturb it could, fell Men, "Your barbarous Hearts? Is Happiness a Crime?

LXVII."Ye impious Wretches! (quoth the Knight, in Wrath) "Your Happiness behold!"—Then strait a Wand He wav'd, an anti-magic Power that hath, Truth from illusive Falshood to command. Sudden, the sinks on every Hand; The pure quick Streams are marshy Puddles found; On baleful Heaths the Groves all blacken'd stand; And, o'er the weedy foul abhorred Ground,

LXVIII.And here and there, on Trees by Lightning scath'd, Unhappy Wights who loathed Life ; Or, in fresh Gore and recent Murder bath'd, They weltering lay, or else, infuriate flung Into the gloomy Flood, while Ravens sung The funeral Dirge, they down the Torrent rowl'd: These, by distemper'd Blood to Madness stung, Had doom'd themselves; whence oft, when Night controul'd

LXIX.Meantime a moving Scene was open laid. That -House, I whilom in my Lay have, its Horrors deep-display'd, And gave unnumber'd Wretches to the Day, Who tossing there in squalid Misery lay. Soon as of sacred Light th' unwonted Smile Pour'd on these living Catacombs its Ray, Through the drear Caverns stretching many a Mile,

LXX."O Heaven! (they cry'd) and do we once more see "Yon blessed Sun, and this green Earth so fair? "Are we from noisome Damps of Pest-House free? "And drink our Souls the sweet ethereal Air? "O Thou! or Knight, or God! who holdest there "That Fiend, oh keep him in eternal Chains! "But what for us, the Children of Despair, "Brought to the Brink of Hell, what Hope remains?

LXXI.The gentle Knight, who saw their rueful Case, Let fall adown his silver Beard some Tears. "Certes (quoth he) it is not even in Grace, "T' undo the Past, and eke your broken Years: "Nathless, to nobler Worlds Repentance rears, "With humble Hope, her Eye; to Her is given "A Power the truly contrite Heart that chears; "She quells the Brand by which the Rocks are riven;

LXXII."Then patient bear the Suffering you have earn'd, "And by these Sufferings purify the Mind; "Let Wisdom be by past Misconduct learn'd: "Or pious die, with Penitence resign'd; "And to a Life more happy and refin'd, "Doubt not, you shall, new Creatures, yet arise. "Till Then, you may expect in me to find "One who will wipe your Sorrow from your Eyes,

LXXIII.They silent heard, and pour'd their Thanks in Tears. "For you (resum'd the Knight with sterner Tone) "Whose hard dry Hearts th' obdurate Demon sears, "That Villain's Gifts will cost you many a Groan; "In dolorous Mansion long you must bemoan "His fatal Charms, and weep your Stains away; "Till, soft and pure as Infant-Goodness grown, "You feel a perfect Change: then, who can say,

LXXIV.This said, his powerful Wand he wav'd anew: Instant, a glorious Angel-Train descends, The Charities, to-wit, of rosy Hue; Sweet Love their Looks a gentle Radiance lends, And with seraphic Flame Compassion blends. At once, delighted, to their Charge they fly: When lo! a goodly Hospital ascends; In which they bade each human Aid be nigh,

LXXV.It was a worthy edifying Sight, And gives to Human-Kind peculiar Grace, To see kind Hands attending Day and Night, With tender Ministry, from Place to Place. Some prop the Head; some, from the pallid Face, Wipe off the faint cold Dews weak Nature sheds; Some reach the healing Draught; the whilst, to chase The Fear supreme, around their soften'd Beds,

LXXVI.Attended by a glad acclaiming Train Of those he rescu'd had from gaping Hell, Then turn'd the Knight; and, to his Hall again Soft-pacing, sought of Peace the mossy Cell; Yet down his Cheeks the Gems of Pity fell, To see the helpless Wretches that remain'd. There left through Delves and Deserts dire to yell; Amaz'd, their Looks with pale Dismay were stain'd,

LXXVII.But ah! their scorned Day of Grace was past: For (Horrible to tell!) a Desert wild Before them stretch'd, bare, comfortless, and vast; With Gibbets, Bones, and Carcases defil'd. There nor trim Field, nor lively Culture smil'd; Nor waving Shade was seen, nor Fountain fair; But Sands abrupt on Sands lay loosely pil'd, Through which they floundering toil'd with painful Care,

LXXVIII.Then, varying to a joyless Land of Bogs, The sadden'd Country a grey Waste appear'd; Where Nought but putrid Steams and noisome Fogs For ever hung on drizzly Austers Beard; Or else the Ground by piercing Caurus sear'd, Was jagg'd with Frost, or heap'd with glazed Snow: Through these Extremes a ceaseless Round they steer'd, By cruel Fiends still hurry'd to and fro,

LXXIX.The First was with base dunghill Rags yclad, Tainting the Gale, in which they flutter'd light; Of morbid Hue his Features, sunk, and sad; His hollow shook forth a sickly Light; And o'er his lank Jaw-Bone, in piteous Plight, His black rough Beard was matted rank and vile; Direful to see! an Heart-appalling Sight! Meantime foul and Blotches him defile;

LXXX.The other was a fell despightful Fiend: Hell holds none worse in baleful Bower below; By Pride, and Wit, and Rage, and Rancour, keen'd; Of Man alike, if good or bad, the Foe: With Nose up-turn'd, he always made a As if he smelt some nauseous Scent; his Eye Was cold, and keen, like Blast from Snow; And Taunts he forth most bitterly.

LXXXI.Even so through Brentford Town, a Town of Mud, An Herd of Swine is prick'd along; The filthy Beasts, that never chew the Cud, Still grunt, and squeak, and sing their troublous Song, And oft they plunge themselves the Mire among: But the ruthless Driver goads them on, And ay of barking Dogs the bitter Throng Makes them renew their unmelodious Moan;