LXXVII. Fast by her side a listless maiden pin'd, With aching head, and squeamish heart-burnings; Pale, bloated, cold, she seem'd to hate mankind, Yet lov'd in secret all forbidden things. And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings; The sleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks, A wolf now gnaws him, now a serpent stings; Whilst Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox. THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE. CANTO II. The knight of arts and industry, I. ESCAP'D 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, And of the false enchanter INDOLENCE complain. II. Is there no patron to protect the Muse, And they are sure of bread who swink and moil; They praised are alone, and starve right merrily. 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: Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. 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 loth, 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, Or in a chosen few to rouse the slumbering flame. V. In Fairy-Land there liv'd a knight of old, Now scorch'd by June, now in November steep'd, He still in woods pursu'd the libbard and the boar. VI. As he one morning, long before the dawn, There, up to earn the needments of the day, He found dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy: Her he compress'd, and fill'd her with a lusty boy. VII. Amid the green-wood shade this boy was bred, The same to him glad summer, or the winter breme. VIII. So pass'd his youthly morning, void of care, He of the forest seem'd to be the son, 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; Ne did the sacred Nine disdain a gentle look. IX. Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well, By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel, Disclosing all the powers of head and heart: That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert, X. Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay Yclad in steel, and bright with burnish'd mail, compeer. XI. At other times he pry'd through nature's store, Or else he scann'd the globe, those small domains, sleep Those moral seeds whence we heroic actions reap. |