Right wrathful waxed then the redcross knight; And knew th' enchaunter, speaking though so mild:

His hairs stood bristling up in fierce affright; His looks grew wan and red, and staring wild; And oft he foam'd with rage, and often smil'd. At length, quick-rising with chivalrous ire, He sought to draw his glaive with gore defil'd; But (marvellous to tell!) as forged by fire, It wreathed round his feet, with semblance unto wire.

O mortal hopes, and mortal fears, how vain! Thus when some lozel heir, from riches sprung, Proud as sir Paradel of gaudy train, Doth nothing mind but nimbleness of tongue, And squandering jewels on a heap of dung, Debts grow on debts, on legers legers rise; The banker looks his learned books among, The younker's chearisaunce with spite he spies, And traps the helpless wight who sad in durance lies.

CANTO II.

ARGUMENT.

Intelligence, a trusty spright,

Escapes from wicked bond;
Till her the good Sir Genius finds,
The pride of Fairy Lond.

ALL hail again rich Fancy's orient ray, That gaily gilds this mortal pilgrimage! Ah! never let her soft'ning tints decay, And leave a sombre sadness on my page; But still with flashes bright the soul engage. While she but deigns to visit my low cell, Sequester'd from the strife of party rage, How blest my lot! and Philomel shall dwell Nigh yonder grot where spar-crown'd rivulets swell.

And often, at the calm of sober eve,

Let Contemplation aid my pensive thought; While fairy minstrels o'er some fountain grieve, And mine ear tingles with the death-bell smote.

Oh! then are purest inspirations wrought,
In all the majesty of dream array'd;

The ray of Heaven, in frenzy'd glances caught,
Then bursts of midnight drear the veily shade;
And dear illusions throng the wild romantic glade.

There was a cunning fay of nimblest flight,
In a dark cave by Ignorance confin'd,

Shut up from every glimpse of heav'nly light,
And every balmy breath of purer wind,

Save one small loop-hole which she did not mind.
Through this the tiny fay made her escape,
Lithe as a willow wand which zephyrs bind :
But soon as out from her vile dungeon deep,

She rose from pigmy height to most gigantic shape.

Indignant at such master's vile control,

She wing'd her journey towards blithe Fairy-land;
Intent to warm the good sir Genius' soul,
And arm with rugged mail his knightly hand;
That he might devastate the adverse band,
And break the baleful influence of their sway;
That by his aid the Redcross might withstand
Enchauntment foul, ne in dark cave decay.
With this good will the fairy took her fleeting way.

And now arriv'd, she furl'd her pennons light,
And rov'd through many a bow'r and many a gro
Where laurels flung their arms of verdure bright
Across the way, and join'd embrace above.
The matted green, with roses interwove,
Outvied the syrian hue or damask art :
Such carpeting was sure a seat for Love;
And Love was there, with bevies fair apart,
Mild to the ravish'd eye, and harmless to
heart.

Not that sly boy that wont in Carthage erst
To pierce the bosom of th' unhappy queen;
But one who, every mist of doubt disperst,
Confessed virtue in his modest mien.

With him the white-robed Charities are seen
On yon gemm❜d bank, with chaste addresses da
ing:

Where oft of yore the satyr-tribe have been ; But Hymen now, and harmless Joy, advancing, Lead up the quire, to viol soft entrancing.

On one side, skirted by a bushy screen
From Phoebus' ray, a vined lane extends ;
Huge oaks, like lofty pillars, rise between,
And at the top each bow'ry column bends.

Here Genius oft, or with selected friends,
Or Silence' self, his sober revel keeps :
Swift-feather'd Haste his every call attends;
And when the dewy eye of Cynthia weeps,
Morpheus his pillow crowns with pure ambrosial sleeps.

Here then the fay the blessed owner found,
And told him all her doubts and anxious fears:
The knight, full gen'rous, startled at the sound
And in a moment all in mail appears :

;

For Haste had quickly clad him, though in tears
At the departure of so kind a master;

And scarce, poor wretch! her little bosom cheers,
Unable for the load of such disaster.

But yet she stirs her heart, and then procceds much faster.

Now from the bow'r they haste with wondrous speed,
Many a hillock o'er, and bushy bourn;

The night-bird sung her song with tuneful heed,
Sad sorrowing o'er her lover's willowy urn:

The noisy rook grew clamorous in turn,

And marr'd with envious croak each melting thrill;
The silver stream began with her to mourn,

Yet the rude rook continued croaking still,-
Critic, I wot, that's licens'd aye to kill.