The Caſtle hight of Indolence,
And its falſe Luxury;
Where for a little Time, alas!
We liv'd right jollily.
I.
OMortal Man, who liveſt here by Toil,
Do not complain of this thy hard Eſtate;
That like an Emmet thou muſt ever moil,
Is a ſad Sentence of an ancient Date;
And, certes, there is for it Reaſon great;
For, though ſometimes it makes thee weep and wail,
And curſe thy Star, and early drudge and lare,
Withouten That would come an heavier Bale,
Looſe Life, unruly Paſſions, and Diſeaſes pale.
II.
In lowly Dale, faſt by a River's Side,
With woody Hill o'er Hill encompaſs'd 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,
Half prankt with Spring, with Summer half imbrown'd,
A liſtleſs Climate made, where, Sooth to ſay,
No living Wight could work, ne cared even for Play.
III.
Was nought around but Images of Reſt:
Sleep-ſoothing Groves, and quiet Lawns between;
And flowery Beds that ſlumbrous Influence keſt,
From Poppies breath'd; and Beds of pleaſant Green,
Where never yet was creeping Creature ſeen.
Mean time unnumber'd glittering Streamlets play'd,
And hurled every-where their Waters ſheen;
That, as they bicker'd through the ſunny Glade,
Though reſstleſs ſtill themſelves, a lulling Murmur made.
