"Ay me," quoth he "how many years have been Since these old eyes the sun of heav'n have seen! Certes the Son of Heav'n they now behold, I ween.
"Ah, mote my humble cell so blessed be
As Heav'n to welcome in his lowly roof,
And be the temple for Thy Deity!
Lo, how my cottage worships Thee aloof,
That under ground hath hid his head, in proof
It doth adore Thee with the ceiling low.
Here honey, milk, and chestnuts wild do grow;
The boughs a bed of leaves upon Thee shall bestow.
"But oh!" he said, and therewith sighed full deep, "The heav'ns, alas! too envious are grown, Because our fields Thy presence from them keep; For stones do grow where corn was lately sown." So, stooping down, he gathered up a stone.
"But Thou with corn canst make this stone to ear: What needen we the angry heav'ns to fear?
Let them envy us still, so we enjoy Thee here.”
Thus on they wandered. But those holy weeds
A monstrous serpent, and no man, did cover
(So under greenest herbs the adder feeds);
And round about that stinking corps did hover
The dismal Prince of gloomy night; and over
His ever-damnèd head the shadows erred
Of thousand peccant ghosts, unseen, unheard,
And all the Tyrant fears, and all the Tyrant feared.
He was the Son of blackest Acheron,
Where many frozen souls do chatt'ring lie;
And ruled the burning waves of Phlegethon,
Where many more in flaming sulphur fry,
At once compelled to live and forced to die;
Where nothing can be heard for the loud cry
Of "Oh!" and "Ah!" and "Out alas! that I
Or once again might live or once at length might die!"
At that cave's mouth twice sixteen porters stand,
Receivers of the customary rent:
On each side four, the foremost of the band,
Whose office to divide what in is sent;
Straight other four break it in pieces small;
And at each hand twice five, which, grinding all,
Fit it for convoy, and this city's arsenal.
From thence a groom of wondrous volubility
Delivers all unto near officers,
Of nature like himself and like agility;
At each side four, that are the governors
To see the vict'als shipped at fittest tide;
Which straight from thence with prosp'rous channel slide
And in Koilia's port with nimble oars glide.
The haven, framed with wondrous sense and art,
Opens itself to all that entrance seek;
Yet if aught back would turn and thence depart,
With thousand wrinkles shuts the ready creek;
But when the rent is slack, it rages rife,
And mut'nies in itself with civil strife:
Thereto a little groom eggs it with sharpest knife.
Below dwells, in this city's market-place,
The island's common cook, Concoction;
Common to all, therefore in middle space
Is quartered fit, in just proportion;
Whence never from his labour he retires,
No rest he asks or better change requires;
Both night and day he works, ne'er sleeps, nor sleep desires.
That heat which in his furnace ever fumeth
Is nothing like to our hot parching fire,
Which, all consuming, self at length consumeth,
But moist'ning flames a gentle heat inspire,
Which sure some inborn neighbour to him lendeth;
And oft the bord'ring coast fit fuel sendeth,
And oft the rising fume, which down again descendeth.
Like to a pot, where under-hovering
Divided flames, the iron sides entwining,
Above is stopped with close-laid covering,
Exhaling fumes to narrow straits confining;
So doubling heat his duty doubly speedeth;
Such is the fire Concoction's vessel needeth,
Who daily all the isle with fit provision feedeth.
Thrice, O thrice happy shepherd's life and state,
When courts are happiness' unhappy pawns!
His cottage low and safely humble gate
Shuts out proud Fortune with her scorns and fawns.
No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep;
Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep,
Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.
No Serian worms he knows, that with their threed
Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride.
His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need,
Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed.
No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, No begging wants his middle fortune bite, But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.
Instead of music and base flattering tongues,
Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise,
The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs,
And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes.
In country plays is all the strife he uses,
Or song or dance unto the rural Muses;
And but in music's sports all differences refuses.
His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets and rich content.
The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him
With coolest shades, till noon-tide rage is spent.
His life is neither tossed in boist'rous seas
Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease. Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please.
His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps,
While by his side his faithful spouse hath place.
His little son into his bosom creeps,
The lively picture of his father's face.
Never his humble house or state torment him;
Less he could like, if less his God had sent him;
And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, con-
FAITH AND KNOWLEDGE FIGHT THE DRAGON
With Fido, Knowledge went, who ordered right
His mighty bands; so now his scattered troops
Make head again, filling their broken fight,
While with new change the dragon's army droops,
And from the following victors headlong run.
Yet still the dragon frustrates what is done,
And easily makes them lose what they so hardly won.
Out of his gorge a hellish smoke he drew,
That all the field with foggy mist enwraps,
As when Typhoeus from his paunch doth spew
Black smothering flames rolled in loud thunder-claps;
The pitchy vapours choke the shining ray,
And bring dull night upon the smiling day;
The wavering Ætna shakes and fain would run away.
Yet could his bat-eyed legions eas❜ly see
In this dark chaos, they the seed of night;
But these not so, who night and darkness flee,
For they the sons of day, and joy in light.
But Knowledge soon began a way devise,
To bring again the day and clear their eyes;
So opened Fido's shield, and golden veil unties.
Of one pure diamond, celestial fair,
That heav'nly shield by cunning hand was made;
Whose light divine, spread through the misty air,
To brightest morn would turn the western shade,
And lightsome day beget before his time;
Framed in heav'n, without all earthly crime,
Dipped in the fi'ry sun, which burnt the baser slime.
As when from fenny moors the lumpish clouds
With rising steams damp the bright Morning's face,
At length the piercing Sun his team unshrouds,
And with his arrows th' idle fog doth chase;
The broken mist lies melted all in tears:
So this bright shield the stinking darkness tears,
And, giving back the day, dissolves their former fears.
ANONYMOUS
THEN I WAS IN LOVE
Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow,
As passion did them move;
Once did I hope, straight fear again:
And then I was in love.
That wounds and tears were both our lot:
And then I was in love.
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