IN lonely dale, fast by a river's side,

With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round,

A most enchanting wizard did abide,

Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground,

And there a season atween June and May,

[ed,

Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrownA listless climate made, where sooth to say,

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, And 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,

[flow.

The murm'ring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to

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 Phoebus bright, And made a kind of chequered day and night; Meanwhile, unceasing at the massy gate, Beneath a spacious palm, the wicked wight Was placed; and, to his lute, of cruel fate 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? Soft quilts on quilts, carpets on carpets spread, 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 o'er 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.