Page:The castle of Indolence - an allegorical poem - Written in imitation of Spenser (IA castleofindolenc00thomiala).pdf/72

XLVI.

The Bard obey'd; and taking from his Side,

Where it in seemly Sort depending hung,
His British Harp, its speaking Strings he try'd,
The which with skilful Touch he deffly strung,
Till tinkling in clear Symphony they rung.
Then, as he felt the Muses come along,
Light o'er the Chords his raptur'd Hand he flung,
And play'd a Prelude to his rising Song:
The whilst, like Midnight mute, then Thousands round him throng.

XLVII.

Thus, ardent, burst his Strain.

"Ye hapless Race,
"Dire-labouring here to smother Reason's Ray,
"That lights our Maker's Image in our Face,
"And gives us wide o'er Earth unquestion'd Sway;
"What is th' ador'd supreme Perfection, say?
"What, but eternal never-resting Soul,
"Almighty Power, and all-directing Day;
"By whom each Atom stirs, the Planets roll;
"Who fills, surrounds, informs, and agitates the Whole?

XLVIII.