LXXIV. "And so he banish'd thought, and quite forgot All contemplation of that wretched face; And so we wil'd him from that lonely spot He met a gentle haunter of the place, Full of sweet wisdom gather'd from the brooks, Who there discuss'd his melancholy case With wholesome texts learn'd from kind nature's books, Meanwhile he newly trimm'd his lines and hooks." LXXV. Herewith the Fairy ceased. Quoth Ariel now "Let me remember how I sav'd a man, Whose fatal noose was fasten'd on a bough, Intended to abridge his sad life's span; For haply I was by when he began LXXVI. "Through brake and tangled copse, for much he loath'd All populous haunts, and roam'd in forests rude, To hide himself from man. But I had cloth'd Till we were come beside an ancient tree Late blasted by a storm. Here he renew'd His loud complaints, choosing that spot to be The scene of his last horrid tragedy. LXXVII. "It was a wild and melancholy glen, Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, LXXVIII. "But here upon his final desperate clause The sad remainder oozing from his brain In timely ecstasies of healing tears, Which through his ardent eyes began to drain; LXXIX. Thus Ariel ended, and was some time hush'd: When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads, To read the record of her own good deeds: "It chanc'd," quoth she, "in seeking through the meads For honied cowslips, sweetest in the morn, Whilst yet the buds were hung with dewy beads, And Echo answer'd to the huntsman's horn, We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn. LXXX. "A little, sorrowful, deserted thing, Begot of love, and yet no love begetting; Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring; Alas! to see how the cold dew kept wetting LXXXI. "His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, And his young cheek was softer than a peach, Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plann'd, 66 LXXXII. Pity it was to see those frequent tears Falling regardless from his friendless eyes; There was such beauty in those twin blue spheres, Just touch'd with thought, and yet not over wise, Not yet by care or any craft defil'd. ; 66 LXXXIII. Pity it was to see the ardent sun Scorching his helpless limbs it shone so warm ; Nor mother's gentle breast, come fair or storm. Whilst providential Heav'n our care espies, |