Where the wild Thyme and Camomil are found:
There would he linger, till the latest Ray

Of Light sat trembling on the Welkin's Bound: Then homeward through the twilight Shadows stray, Saunt'ring and slow. So had he pass'd many a Day.

LIX

Yet not in thoughtless Slumber were they past:
For oft the heavenly Fire, that lay conceal'd
Beneath the sleeping Embers, mounted fast,
And all its native Light anew reveal'd ;

Oft as he travers'd the Cerulean Field,

And mark'd the Clouds that drove before the Wind,
Ten thousand glorious Systems would he build,
Ten thousand great Ideas fill'd his Mind;

But with the Clouds they fled, and left no Tract behind.

LX

With him was sometimes join'd, in silent Walk,
(Profoundly silent, for they never spoke)
One shyer still, who quite detested Talk:
Oft, stung by Spleen, at once away he broke,
To Groves of Pine, and broad o'ershadowing Oak;
There, inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone,

And on himself his pensive Fury wroke,

Ne ever utter'd Word, save when first shone

The glittering Star of Eve—" Thank Heaven! the Day is done."

LXI

Here lurk'd a Wretch, who had not crept abroad
For forty Years, ne Face of Mortal seen;

In Chamber brooding like a loathly Toad,
And sure his Linnen was not very clean;
Through secret Loop-Hole, that had practis'd been
Near to his Bed, his Dinner vile he took;

Unkempt, and rough, of squalid Face and Mien, Our Castle's shame! whence, from his filthy Nook, We drove the Villain out for fitter Lair to look.

LXII

One Day there chaunc'd into these Halls to rove
A joyous Youth, who took you at first Sight;
Him the wild Wave of Pleasure hither drove,
Before the sprightly Tempest tossing light:
Certes, he was a most engaging Wight,

Of social Glee, and Wit humane though keen,
Turning the Night to Day and Day to Night;
For him the merry Bells had rung, I ween,
If in this Nook of Quiet Bells had ever been.

LXIII

But not even Pleasure to Excess is good,
What most elates then sinks the Soul as low;
When Spring-Tide Joy pours in with copious Flood,
The higher still th' exulting Billows flow,
The farther back again they flagging go,
And leave us groveling on the dreary Shore:
Taught by this Son of Joy, we found it so ;
Who, whilst he staid, kept in a gay Uproar

Our madden'd Castle all, th' Abode of Sleep no more.

LXIV

As when in Prime of June a burnish'd Fly, Sprung from the Meads, o'er which he sweeps along. Chear'd by the breathing Bloom and vital Sky, Tunes up amid these airy Halls his Song, Soothing at first the gay reposing Throng: And oft he sips their Bowl; or nearly drown'd, He, thence recovering, drives their Beds among, And scares their tender Sleep, with Trump profound; Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy Round.

LXV

Another Guest there was, of Sense refin'd,
Who felt each Worth, for every Worth he had;
Serene yet warm, humane yet firm his Mind,
As little touch'd as any Man's with Bad:

Him through their inmost Walks the Muses lad,
To him the sacred Love of Nature lent,

And sometimes would he make our Valley glad;
Whenas we found he would not here be pent,
To him the better Sort this friendly Message sent.

LXVI

Come, dwell with us! true Son of Virtue, come !
But if, alas! we cannot Thee persuade,

To lie content beneath our peaceful Dome,
Ne ever more to quit our quiet Glade ;
Yet when at last thy Toils, but ill apaid,

Shall dead thy Fire, and damp its Heavenly Spark,
Thou wilt be glad to seek the rural Shade,

There to indulge the Muse, and Nature mark:
We then a Lodge for Thee will rear in Hagley-Park."

LXVII

Here whilom ligg'd th' Esopus of the Age; But call'd by Fame, in Soul ypricked deep, A noble Pride restor❜d him to the Stage, And rous'd him like a Gyant from his Sleep. Even from his Slumbers we Advantage reap: With double Force th' enliven'd Scene he wakes, Yet quits not Nature's Bounds. He knows to keep Each due Decorum: Now the Heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd Sense th' enlighten'd Judgment takes.

LXVIII

A Bard here dwelt, more fat than Bard beseems;

1 Who void of Envy, Guile, and Lust of Gain,

On Virtue still, and Nature's pleasing Themes,
Pour'd forth his unpremeditated Strain,

1 The following Lines of this Stanza were writ by a Friend of the Author.

The World forsaking with a calm Disdain :
Here laugh'd he careless in his easy Seat,
Here quaff'd encircled with the joyous Train;
Oft moralizing sage; his ditty sweet

He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat.

LXIX

Full oft by Holy Feet our Ground was trod,
Of Clerks good Plenty here you mote espy.
A little, round, fat, oily Man of God,
Was one I chiefly mark'd among the Fry:
He had a roguish Twinkle in his Eye,
And shone all glittering with ungodly Dew,
If a tight Damsel chaunced to trippen by;
Which when observ'd, he shrunk into his Mew,
And strait would recollect his Piety anew.

LXX

Nor be forgot a Tribe, who minded Nought (Old Inmates of the Place) but State-Affairs : They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought; And on their Brow sat every Nation's Cares. The World by them is parcel'd out in Shares, When in the Hall of Smoak they Congress hold, And the sage Berry sun-burnt Mocha bears, Has clear'd their inward Eye: then, smoak-enroll'd, Their Oracles break forth mysterious as of old.

LXXI

Here languid Beauty kept her pale-fac'd Court:
Bevies of dainty Dames, of high Degree,

From every Quarter hither made Resort;

Where, from gross mortal Care and Business free,
They lay, pour'd out in Ease and Luxury.
Or should they a vain Shew of Work assume,

Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?

To knot, to twist, to range the vernal Bloom;

But far is cast the Distaff, Spinning-Wheel, and Loom.

LXXII

Their only Labour was to kill the Time ;
And Labour dire it is, and weary Woe.

They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle Rhyme ;
Then, rising sudden, to the Glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering Step and slow:
This soon too rude an Exercise they find;

Strait on the Couch their Limbs again they throw,
Where Hours on Hours they sighing lie reclin'd,
And court the vapoury God soft-breathing in the Wind.

LXXIII

Now must I mark the Villainy we found,
But ah! too late, as shall eftsoons be shewn.
A Place here was, deep, dreary, under Ground;
Where still our Inmates, when unpleasing grown,
Diseas'd, and loathsome, privily were thrown:
Far from the Light of Heaven, they languish'd there,
Unpity'd uttering many a bitter Groan;

For of these Wretches taken was no Care:
Fierce Fiends, and Hags of Hell, their only Nurses were.

LXXIV

[Alas! the Change! from scenes of Joy and Rest,
To this dark Den, where Sickness toss'd alway.
Here Lethargy, with deadly Sleep opprest,
Stretch'd on his Back a mighty Lubbard lay,
Heaving his Sides, and snored Night and Day;
To stir him from his Traunce it was not eath,
And his half-open'd Eyne he shut strait way;
He led, I wot, the softest Way to Death,

And taught withouten Pain and Strife to yield the
Breath.]