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Of spells all horror, and enchanters dire,
And the sweet banquet of the amorous fire,
When Knights and Ladies chaste, relieved from thrall,
Hold Love's high holiday in bower and hall.
'Twas thus, all pleasing to the languid thought,
With magic power the tales of magic wrought;
Till by the Muses armed, in all the ire
Of wit, resistless as electric fire,
Forth rode La Mancha's Knight; and sudden fled
Goblins and beauteous nymphs, and pagans dread,
As the delirious dream of sickness flies,
When health returning smiles from vernal skies.
But turn we now from Chivalry diseased,
To Chivalry when Honour's wreath she seized
From Wisdom's hand.—From Taurus' rugged steep,
And Caucasus, far round with headlong sweep,
As wolves wild howling from their famish'd den,
Rush'd the devouring bauds of Sarazen:
