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Fired that the house rejects him, 'Sdeath, I'll print it,
And shame the fools,—your interest, sir, with Lintot.
Lintot, dull rogue, will think your price too much ;
• Not, sir, if you revise it and retouch.'
All my demurs but double his attacks ;
At last he whispers, ' Do, and we go snacks.'
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,
Sir, let me see your works and you no more !
Dipped me in ink,-my parents', or my own ?
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came :
I left no calling for this idle trade,
The Muse but served to ease some friend, not wit:
To help me through this long disease, my life,
To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care,
FROM "THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.”
In lonely dale, fast by a river's side,
With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground, -
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrowned
No living wight could work, ne cared even for play.
Was nought around but images of rest,
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between,
And flowery beds that slumberous influence cast,
From poppies breathed, and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen.
Meantime unnumbered glittering streamlets played,
Ånd hurled every where their waters sheen;
That as they bickered through the sunny glade, Tho' 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 bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale ;
And now and then sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves 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 inclined all to sleep.
Full in the passage of the vale above,
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;
Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood :
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, ay waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood;
And where this valley winded out below,
The murin’ring main was heard,and scarcelyheard to flow
A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye ;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky:
'There eke the soft delights that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm 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 Phæbus bright,
And made a kind of chequered day and night ;
Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate,
Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked wight
And labour harsh complained, lamenting man's estate.
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 ?
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.
Each sound too here to languishment inclined,
Lulled the weak bosom, and induced ease :
Aërial music in the warbling wind,
At distance rising oft, by small degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till oe'r the trees
It hung, and breathed such soul-dissolving airs,
As did, alas ! with soft perdition please :
Entangled deep in its enchanting snares,
The listening heart forgot all duties and all cares.
A certain music, never known before,
Here lulled the pensive, melancholy mind
Full easily obtained. Behoves no more,
But sidelong, to the gentle waving wind,
To lay the well tuned instrument reclined ;
From which, with airy flying fingers light,
Beyond each mortal touch the most refined,
The god of winds drew sounds of deep delight : Whence, with just cause, the harp of £olus it hight
* * * * - * * * Near the pavilions where we slept, still ran Soft tinkling streams, and dashing waters fell, And sobbing breezes sighed, and oft began (So worked the wizard) wintry storms to swell, As heaven and earth they would together mell, At doors and windows, threatening, seemed i call The demons of the tempest growling fell,
Yet the least entrance found they none at all ; Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy pall.
And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams, Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace ; O’er which were shadowy cast elysian gleains, That played, in waving lights, from place to place, And shed a roseate smile on nature's face, Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array, So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal space ; Ne couid it e'er such melting forrs display, As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay,