Their sires to approach; the wild Dictæan cave
Where Jove was born; the ever-verdant meads
Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where

His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne.
Yet stands mysterious; whither Minos came
Each ninth returning year, the king of gods
And mortals there in secret to consult

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On justice, and the tables of his law
To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal
Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates
Men visit; nor less oft the antique fane
Built on that sacred spot, along the banks
Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove
And his majestic consort join'd their hands
And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas! 'twas there
That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds

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I first receiv'd; what time an annual feast
Had summon'd all the genial country round,
By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind
That first great spousal; while the enamour'd youths
And virgins, with the priest before the shrine,
Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke
The same glad omens. There, among the crowd
Of strangers from those naval cities drawn
Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore,
A merchant of Egina I descried,

My ancient host; but, forward as I sprung
To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow,
Stopp'd half averse; and, 'O Athenian guest,'
He said, 'art thou in Crete; these joyful rites

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Partaking? Know thy laws are blotted out:
Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne.'
He added names of men, with hostile deeds
Disastrous; which obscure and indistinct
I heard: for, while he spake, my heart grew cold
And my eyes dim; the altars and their train
No more were present to me: how I far'd,
Or whither turn'd, I know not; nor recall
Aught of those moments other than the sense
Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep,
And, from the toils of some distressful dream
To break away, with palpitating heart,
Weak limbs, and temples bath'd in death-like dew,
Makes many a painful effort. When at last
The sun and nature's face again appear'd,
Not far I found me; where the public path,
Winding thro' cypress groves and swelling meads,
From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends.

Heedless I follow'd on; till soon the skirts
Of Ida rose before me, and the vault
Wide opening pierc'd the mountain's rocky side.
Entering within the threshold, on the ground
I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil."

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THE BEGINNING OF THE

FOURTH BOOK OF THE PLEASURES OF THE

IMAGINATION. 1770.

ONE effort more, one cheerful sally more,
Our destin'd course will finish; and in peace
Then, for an offering sacred to the powers
Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then
Inscribe a monument of deathless praise,
O my adventurous song! With steady speed
Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound,
Sail'd between earth and heaven: hast now sur-

vey'd,

Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts
Of Passion and Opinion; like a waste

Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woods,
Where mortals roam bewilder'd: and hast now
Exulting soar'd among the worlds above,
Or hover'd near the eternal gates of heaven,

If haply the discourses of the gods,

A curious, but an unpresuming guest,

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Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat,

And apt to be conceiv'd of man below.

A different task remains: the secret paths

Of early genius to explore; to trace

Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd sons,

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Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls
Who now her tender discipline obey,

Where dwell ye? What wild river's brink at eve
Imprint your steps? What solemn groves at noon
Use ye to visit, often breaking forth

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk,

Or musing, as in slumber, on the green?

Would I again were with you! - O ye dales
Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands; where
Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides,
And his banks open, and his lawns extend,
Stops short the pleased traveller to view,
Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower
Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands:
O ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls
Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream;
How gladly I recall your well-known seats
Belov'd of old, and that delightful time
When all alone, for many a summer's day,
I wander'd through your calm recesses, led
In silence by some powerful hand unseen!

Nor will I e'er forget you; nor shall e'er
The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice.
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim
Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn
Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind.
For every future year: whence even now
From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,

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And, while the world around lies overwhelm'd
In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts
Of honourable fame, of truth divine

Or moral, and of minds to virtue won

By the sweet magic of harmonious verse;
The themes which now expect us. For thus far
On general habits, and on arts which grow
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind,
Hath dwelt our argument; and how self-taught,
Though seldom conscious of their own employ,
In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene
Men learn to judge of Beauty, and acquire
Those forms set up, as idols in the soul
For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct,
In vulgar bosoms, and unnotic'd, lie
These pleasing stores, unless the casual force
Of things external prompt the heedless mind
To recognize her wealth. But some there are
Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man
O'er Nature holds: some who, within themselves
Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance
And momentary passion, can at will
Call up these fair exemplars of the mind;
Review their features; scan the secret laws
Which bind them to each other; and display
By forms or sounds or colours, to the sense
Of all the world their latent charms display:
Even as in Nature's frame (if such a word,
If such a word, so bold, may from the lips
Of man proceed), as in this outward frame

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