LIV. Here in my dream it made me fret to see With mistim'd mirth mocking the doleful style Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile Turning their solemn looks to half a smile Like a straight stick shown crooked in the tide; – But soon a novel advocate I spied. -- Quoth he LV. "We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet, The bee's sweet alchemy, the spider's skill, The pismire's care to garner up his wheat, - The lapwing's cunning to preserve her nest, But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet LVI. "Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins Delve with the timid mole, that aptly delves And eke the silk-worm, pattern'd by ourselves : LVII. "Wherefore, by thy delight in that old tale, As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, For whom our craft most curiously contrives, LVIII. "Now by my glass," quoth Time, "ye do offend In teaching the brown bees that careful lore, LIX. Then came an elf, right beauteous to behold, most meet for one That was a warden of the pearly streams; And as he stept out of the shadows dun, His jewels sparkled in the pale moon's gleams, And shot into the air their pointed beams. LX. Quoth he, “We bear the cold and silver keys Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below Course thro' the veiny earth,-which when they freeze Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go, LXI. “And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat Parches the river god, whose dusty urn Drips miserly, till soon his crystal feet Against his pebbly floor wax faint and burn, And languid fish, unpois'd, grow sick and yearn, Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook, And little channels dig, wherein we turn The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook The Naiad-lily, pining for her brook. LXII. "Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads, With living sapphires daintily inlaid, In all soft songs of waters and their reeds, Kills the fair lily with a livelier white, Spare us, poor ministers to such delight." LXIII. Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks Mov'd not the spiteful Shade:-Quoth he, "Your taste Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks And slavish rivulets that run to waste In noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste To swell the vast dominion of the sea, In whose great presence I am held disgrac'd, |