PASSION and pain, the outcry of despair, The pang of the unattainable desire, And youth's delight in pleasures that expire, Then through a mighty sorrowing, as through fire, RICHARD HOVEY. I sat me down to watch upon a bank share! MILTON. THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. FROM CANTO I The castle hight of Indolence, And its false luxury; Where for a little time, alas! We lived right jollily. O MORTAL man, who livest here by toil, And curse thy star, and early drudge and late; Withouten that would come a heavier bale, Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale. In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, A listless climate made, where, sooth to say, No living wight could work, ne cared even for play. Was naught around but images of rest : Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between ; And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest, From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green, Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime, unnumbered glittering streamlets played, And hurled everywhere their waters sheen; That, as they bickered through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made. Joined to the prattle of the purling rills Were heard the lowing herds along the vale, And flocks loud beating from the distant hills, And vacant shepherds piping in the dale : And, now and then, sweet Philomel would wail, Or stockdoves plain amid the forest deep, That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale; And still a coil the grasshopper did keep; Yet all these sounds yblent inclinèd all to sleep. Full in the passage of the vale, above, move, As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood : And up the hills, on either side, a wood Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro, Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood; And where this valley winded out, below, The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow. A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flushing round a summer sky: There eke the soft delights, that witchingly Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast, And the calin pleasures always hovered nigh; But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest. The landscape such, inspiring perfect ease, Where Indolence (for so the wizard hight) Close-hid his castle mid embowering trees, That half shut out the beams of Phoebus bright, And made a kind of checkered day and night; Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate, Beneath a spacious palin, the wicked wight Was placed; and to his lute, of cruel fate And labor harsh, complained, lamenting man's estate. "But if a little exercise you choose, Some zest for ease, 't is not forbidden here: Amid the groves you may indulge the Muse, Or tend the blooms, and deck the vernal year; Or softly stealing, with your watery gear, Along the brooks, the crimson-spotted fry You may delude: the whilst, amused, you hear Now the hoarse stream, and now the zephyr's sigh, Attuned to the birds, and woodland melody. "O grievous folly! to heap up estate, But sure it is of vanities most vain, To toil for what you here untoiling may obtain." He ceased. But still their trembling ears retained The deep vibrations of his witching song ; That, by a kind of magic power, constrained To enter in, pell-mell, the listening throng. Heaps poured on heaps, and yet they slipt along, In silent ease; as when beneath the beam Of summer moons, the distant woods among, Or by some flood all silvered with the gleam, i The soft-embodied fays through airy portal stream: By the smooth demon so it ordered was, ther pass, And his alluring baits suspected han. The wise distrust the too fair-spoken man. Yet through the gate they cast a wishful eye: Not to move on, perdie, is all they can : For do their very best they cannot fly, But often each way look, and often sorely sigh. When this the watchful wicked wizard saw, With sudden spring he leaped upon them straight; And soon as touched by his unhallowed paw, They found themselves within the cursed gate: Full hard to be repassed, like that of fate. Not stronger were of old the giant crew, Who sought to pull high Jove from regal state; Though feeble wretch he seemed, of sallow hue: Certes, who bides his grasp, will that encounter rue. Ye gods of quiet, and of sleep profound! Whose soft dominion o'er this castle sways, And all the widely silent places round, Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays What never yet was sung in mortal lays. But how shall I attempt such arduous string? I who have spent my nights and nightly days In this soul-deadening place loose-loitering: Ah! how shall I for this uprear my moulted wing? Come on, iny Muse, nor stoop to low despair, Thou imp of Jove, touched by celestial fire! Thou yet shalt sing of war, and actions fair, Which the bold sons of Britain will inspire: Of ancient bards thou yet shalt sweep the lyre; Thou yet shalt tread in tragic pall the stage, Paint love's enchanting woes, the hero's ire, The sage's calm, the patriot's noble rage, Dashing corruption down through every worthless age. The doors, that knew no shrill alarming bell Ne cursed knocker plied by villain's hand, Self-opened into halls, where who can tell What elegance and grandeur wide expand; The pride of Turkey and of Persia land? Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets spread, And couches stretched around in seemly band; And endless pillows rise to prop the head; So that each spacious room was one full-swelling bed; And everywhere huge covered tables stood, With wines high-flavored and rich viands crowned; Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food On the green bosom of this earth are found, And all old ocean 'genders in his round: Some hand unseen these silently displayed, Even undemanded by a sign or sound; You need but wish, and instantly obeyed, Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the glasses played. Here freedom reigned, without the least alloy; The rooms with costly tapestry were hung, |