LXXII.

This said, his powerful wand he waved 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 lenient aid be nigh,
That could the sick-bed smoothe of that sad company.

LXXIII.

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, Some holy man by prayer all opening heaven dispreds.

LXXIV.

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;
Amazed, their looks with pale dismay were stain❜d,
And spreading wide their hands they meek repentance
feign'd.

LXXV.

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 smiled;
Nor waving shade was seen, nor fountain fair;
But sands abrupt on sands lay loosely piled,

Through which they floundering toil'd with painful care, Whilst Phoebus smote them sore, and fired the cloudless air.

LXXVI.

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 Auster's 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,

Gaunt Beggary and Scorn, with many hell-hounds moe.

LXXVII.

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 eyne 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 scurf and blotches him defile;

And dogs, where-e'er he went, still barked all the while.

LXXVIII.

The other was a fell despiteful 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 show
As if he smelt some nauseous scent; his eye

Was cold, and keen, like blast from boreal snow:
And taunts he casten forth most bitterly.

Such were the twain that off drove this ungodly fry.

LXXIX.

Even so through Brentford town, a town of mud,
An herd of bristly 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 ay the ruthless driver goads them on,
And ay of barking dogs the bitter throng
Makes them renew their unmelodious moan;
Ne ever find they rest from their unresting fone.