CANTO IV. (My similie is at an end)

My similie is at an end; To Fancy we'll return, my friend.

Sometimes she'll take it in her head, To sit and muse among the dead; And then, before your eye could twinkle, She'll hop to th' charnel-house, and sprinkle Some favorite friend's unconscious bones, And hear again his dying groans; And kiss his lips, and catch his sighs, And cleanse his brow, and close his eyes; And wring her hands, and rend her hair, In all the horrors of despair: As when she caught his parting breath, In the last agonies of death.

Nor are such griefs to her ideal; With Fancy every thing is real: Which gives occasion to your sceptic, Or, rather, to herself, to deem, From these emotions epileptic, That she exists but in a dream. That soul and body, matter and spirit, With all which men think they inherit, To which they give such fond reception, Is nothing but a meer deception.

I can't, said William, I protest, Conceive such things, except in jest, Have ever enter'd mortal head; Have ever, yet, been sung, or said.

Then, pray inform me, by what token, Sir, I shall gain certainty, fair spoken, Sir, Replied Sir Thomas: or what sign Shall bring conviction, friend of mine, That I am now with you debating, And 'gainst the post exonerating: Or, though I think I make it shake, I shall not shortly start and wake.

Why, Sir, last night, in my first sleep, I, at my spigot end, did weep; (Observe, when stomach too replete is, I'm subject to your diabetes; Which, though the bed it will besmear, Is sweeter than your diarrhoea.) I say, I stood against the wall, And saw and heard the water fall; It could not be behind the curtain, So well convinc'd was I, and certain: But more to prove it to the million, I wrangled with my own postillion, Dar'd the best man that e'er wore head To prove that I then p—t the bed. And yet, for all my fending feats, Molly was forc'd to change the sheets; At least, so did I after deem, For so depos'd my waking dream. But which was right, or which was wrong, To your Logicians doth belong, From Mr. Minor and Mr. Major, By consequent, or else by wager, These doubts and darkness to dispel; For I'll be d—d if I can tell.

Again—I dreamt one night before, As I was standing at my door, A woman came—a frightful figure— And of a pistol held the trigger; Her hands were bloody—she would enter, And, as I follow'd, to prevent her From strangling my beloved Nancy, She striding forward, to my fancy, Just then, as I with fear was fainting, I look'd and found her head was wanting. And now my courage had forsook me, Another terror overtook me. Instead of Nancy's massacre, I found that I had murder'd her; For, being headless, it was plain She had by somebody been slain; So dreading to be left i' th' lurch, I made a skip to top o' th' Church, And on the steeple sat me down, And laugh'd, and look'd about the town. Here I was seiz'd a-new with fright; For, meditating on the height, And seeing nothing on the wall That I could catch to save my fall, I found, by calculation true, As I look'd down, and took a view, E'er I could light in streets or lanes, 'Twas odds that I dash'd out my brains. Now for a moment I forgot If I had being, or had not; Then found myself upon my feet, And walking up a spacious street: But, ere I could proceed much further, Was taken up, and hung for murder; To Sweeps and Sandmen did exhibit A body dangling to a gibbet. And now, I was not only vex'd, But, somehow, damnably perplex'd, To think, on finding I was dead, What I should do to get my bread; But in the midst of all this thrall, I jump'd from thence to Surgeon's Hall: Where I beheld a row of fellows, That just were taken from the gallows; Ill-looking, ragged, vile companions, And strung all round like ropes of onions; By wires hung pendant, as their wont is, 'Tween os occipitis et frontis. And here, instead of being dissected, I see those operations acted. My perinaeum shrinks to note 'em; I clap my hand upon my scrotum, And view, the while my flesh doth quiver, Now this man's heart, then that man's liver. No mortal yet, by day or night, Ever beheld more shocking sight. Yet they're alive, nor are they screaming, But wrangling, singing, and blaspheming, From mouths that with most ghastly grin, Tobacco take, and beg for gin. And here, amidst this scene of terrors, I feel insufferable horrors; I fly, oppress'd with dreadful gloom, To every corner of the room: From this man start, and jerk from t'other, Then bob my back against another Swifter than ball in Tennis-court, 'Till Nature can no more support, But shrieks with violent agitation, And, waking, says—its suffocation: Or swears some fiend her rest was troubling, Some Night-mare, Witch, or glum Hobgoblin.

One other vision give me leave, Among my arguments, to weave.

I went one night, about eleven, To bed—or, rather—went to Heaven. 'Twas in the latter end of spring, My heart was light as Wood-lark's wing; My health was good, my spirits better, My mind without a single fetter; By cares nor crosses was I teaz'd, Nor spleen, nor passion, on me seiz'd: I mean to say, I felt, just then, What happiness is call'd, by men. I cannot give sufficient cause, I only know that so it was; And that such feelings, as it seems, Do gen'rate most delightful dreams.

I went to bed, then, thus dispos'd, And, as I guess, not long had doz'd Before I fell, by some blest chance, Into a kind of heav'nly trance; Unconscious I of sleep or bed, No pillow now supports my head, Nor bolts, nor bars, nor walls restrain, Nor heavy limbs my soul detain; But, gliding on, by swift degrees, I seem to be where'er I please: I lightly leap o'er brook, or briar, And step—as far as I desire.

Anon, on lofty hill I stand, View the green corn, and furrow'd land; See mountain, valley, wood and mead, And shepherd stray, and cattle feed; And distant hills, and waters spy, That glitter pleasure to the eye; While the sweet landscape doth unite Innumerous objects of delight. Then, quick as thought, they instant take The form of an extensive lake, In amphitheatre capacious, A flat of waters, bright and spacious, Which Fancy quickly scatters o'er With islands, towns, and many a shore, Where verdure smiles, and men are seen, And happy Nature plays serene. Here, while I view the water's gleam, I find myself amid the stream; And, as the gentle current glides, My active thought my body guides To ship or shore, now there, now here, Sportive and undisturb'd by fear; And, as the waters we embrace, I vagrant roam from place to place: And, as I lave each happy limb, And strike, and dart, and lightly skim, I think, good God! how well I swim! While thus supine I lie, anon, I twinkle, and the whole is gone; The scene is chang'd, no more appear Or ships, or towns, or islands, near. No more the chrystal waves are seen, Two tow'ring mountains I'm between; Prodigious in their height and size, Their summits lie beyond the skies; Their magnitude new wonder brings, From which a pleasing grandeur springs; Such vast immensity before The face of Nature never wore: Nor e'er in me, till now did blend, Such happy pow'rs to comprehend.

While down the winding vale I stray, Upon an ivory pipe I play A various and delightful lay. My fingers touch as though they flew, Each note's so sweet, and yet so new, I play and listen to the sound, From rock to rock I lightly bound; Sweet echos ev'ry cavern fill, While my agility and skill A mixture breed of strange surmize, Of doubt, of pleasure, and surprize!

Encourag'd by the past, I try If it be possible to fly: When, strange to think, with utmost ease I sail adown the pleasant breeze. Amazement new, and new demur, Again, and yet again, recur. Have I my former self forgot? Or is it me—or is it not? Again I try, again I find, My body lighter than the wind; Till, wanton grown, with joy and mirth, I spurn the bosom of the earth; Into the middle region mount, And cities, seas, and kingdoms count: Strait recollect, and now behold, Whate'er I'ad read, or had been told. My mind, my sight, my soul, expand; I view the near and distant land, Each object see, examine all, And understand both great and small! The freedom, too, with which I range Is more extatic, than 'tis strange. When, as I high, and higher, fly, Sudden appear, throughout the sky, Horses and men in glittering arms, And nought is heard but war's alarms: The warm bright sun, in splendant glances, Plays quivering on their burnish'd lances. Yet as I view the shining steel, No sense of danger do I feel; To win renown I now aspire, And glow with all the hero's fire; My arm bears vict'ry, I presage, But, ere the armies can engage I look again, when, lo! the host Is all in dancing meteors lost! Still Night appears, and Luna's beams, And light shoots o'er the sky in gleams.

But how shall I find words to tell, What, William, after this befel?

Conceive me sailing still on high, That, swifter than the winds, I fly; That, now, I feel a tempest rise, In which I'm tost about the skies, Which are with clouds and gloom o'ercast, A trumpet blows a solemn blast; Then, in the murky hemisphere, Myriads of seraphim appear, That all the heav'ns illuminate, And joys, unfelt before, create. They cry aloud—"THE GENERAL DOOM, THE DAY OF RESURRECTION'S COME!" And lo! as down my sight I bend, Th' inhabitants of earth ascend! In swarms they rise, from latest time, From ev'ry nation, ev'ry clime! The quick and dead of ev'ry coast, Now, smiling, meet the angelic host! All upward, now, their course pursue, 'Till heav'n itself appears in view! 'Till the fam'd music of the spheres, Salutes our ravish'd wond'ring ears! But, William, just as I believe, No pow'r can me of bliss bereave— Just as th' eternal gates unfold, And, past conceiving, I behold The glories I must soon partake— William—just then—alas—I wake.

Suddenly, thus, my hopes were gone, In less time than St. Paul's strikes one! And all, because, such was my lot, Before I went to sleep, god-wot, A certain duty I forgot. Thus, while I had my heavenly trances, My Lady had her earthly fancies. Thus, while I floated in the air, She, restless, tumbling here and there, With her sharp elbow spoil'd my mirth, And cast me down from heav'n to earth.

Oh could I but, my friend, have tarried In this blest place—but I was married— And women, Will, are very loath Men should feel joys not felt by both. Just so Eurydice, I've read, Brought down her spouse among the dead, On earth she would not let him dwell, While she was forc'd to live in Hell.