CANTO I.
17
Behind this Work the humble Chanter sat
In an obscure Invisible Retreat:
When forward to the radiant Day alone,
Attracting every Eye the Prelate shone;
Whether some Dæmon, to the Desk a Foe,
Or Nightly Force combin'd its Overthrow;
Or was it Destiny's unerring Hand
That Pre-ordain'd it should no longer stand.
One fatal Morning with surprizing Noise,
The great Machine fell down before our Eyes:
In Vain we at the Angry Heav'ns repin'd;
'Twas to the Vestry in our Sight confin'd;
There thirty Winters hid from open Day,
Forgotten in Ignoble Dust it lay.
Hear Prelate then———When nightly Mists arise,
And veil in dim suffusion prying Eyes,
Let