XXXII.

Come on, my Muse, nor stoop to low despair, Thou imp of Jove; touch'd by celestial fire! Which yet shall 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 shall 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.

XXXIII.

The doors, that knew no shrill alarming bell,
No cursed knocker ply'd by villain's hand,
Self-open'd 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 stretch'd around in seemly band;
And endless pillows rise to prop the head;

So that each spacious room was one full swelling bed.

XXXIV.

And every where hugh cover'd tables stood,
With wines high-flavour'd and rich viands crown'd;
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 display'd, Even undemanded by a sign or sound; You need but wish, and, instantly obey'd, Fair-rang'd the dishes rose, and thick the glasses play'd.

XXXV.

Here freedom reign'd, without the least alloy :
Nor gossip's tale, nor ancient maiden's gall,
Nor saintly spleen durst murmur at our joy,
And with envenom'd tongue our pleasures pall.
For why? there was but one great rule for all;
To wit, that each should work his own desire,
And eat, drink, study, sleep, as it may fall,
Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre,
And carol what, unbid, the Muses might inspire.

XXXVI.

The rooms with costly tapestry were hung
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale :
Such as of old the rural poets sung,
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale:
Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale,

Pour'd forth at large the sweetly-tortur❜d heart;
Or, sighing tender passions, swell'd the gale,

And taught charm'd echo to resound their smart'; While flocks, woods, streams, around, repose and peace impart.

XXXVII.

Those pleas'd the most, where, by a cunning hand, Depainted was the patriarchal age,

What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee land, And pastur'd on from verdant stage to stage, Where fields and fountains fresh could best engage, Toil was not then. Of nothing took they heed, But with wild beasts the sylvan war to wage,

And o'er vast plains their herds and flocks to feed : Blest sons of nature they! true golden age indeed!

XXXVIII.

Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls, Bade the gay bloom of vernal landskips rise, Or autumn's varied shades imbrown the walls: Now the black tempest strikes th' astonish'd eyes; Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies; The trembling sun now plays o'er ocean blue, And now rude mountains frown amid the skies: Whate'er Lorrain light-touch'd with softening hue, Or savage Rosa dash'd, or learned Poussin drew.

XXXIX.

Each sound too here to languishment inclin'd,
Lull'd the weak bosom, and induced ease.
Aerial music in the warbling wind,
At distance rising oft, by small degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees
It hung, and breath'd 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.

XL.

A certain musicć, never known before, Here lull'd the pensive melancholy mind; Full easily obtain'd. Behooves no more, But sidelong, to the gently-waving wind, To lay the well-tun'd instrument reclin'd: From which, with airy flying fingers light, Beyond each mortal touch the most refin'd, The god of winds drew sounds of deep delight; Whence, with just cause, The Harp of Eolus it hight.

XLI.

Ah me! what hand can touch the string so fine?
Who up the lofty Diapasan roll

Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs divine,
Then let them down again into the soul?

Now rising love they fann'd; now pleasing dole
They breath'd in tender musings, through the

heart;

And now a graver sacred strain they stole,

As when seraphic hands an hymn impart :
Wild-warbling nature all, above the reach of art!

This is not an imagination of the author; there being, in fact, such an instrument, called Eolus's harp, which, when placed against a little rushing or current of air, produces the effect here described.

XLII.

Such the gay splendour, the luxurious state,
Of Caliphs old, who on the Tigris' shore,
In mighty Bagdat, popolous and great,

Held their bright court, where was of ladies store;
And verse, love, music still the garland wore :
When sleep was coy, the bard*, in waiting there,
Cheer'd the lone midnight with the Muse's lore;
Composing music bade his dreams be fair,
And music lent new gladness to the morning air.

XLIII.

Near the pavilions where we slept, still ran
Soft tinkling streams, and dashing waters fell,
And sobbing breezes sigh'd, and oft began
(So work'd the wizard) wintry storms to swell,
As heaven and earth they would together mell;
At doors and windows, threatening, seem'd to call
The demons of the tempest, growing fell,

Yet the least entrance found they none at all; Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy hall.

XLIV.

And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,
Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace;
O'er which were shadowy cast elysian gleams,
That play'd, in waving lights, from place to place,

*The Arabian Caliphs had poets among the officers of their court, whose office it was to do what is here mentioned.

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