190

By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek
Graceful fhe lifts, and blushing from her bow'r
Iffues to clothe in gladfome-glift'ring green
The genial globe, first met my dazzled fight:
These are delights unknown to minds profane,
And which alone the penfive foul can taste. 195

The taper'd choir, at the late hour of pray'r, Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice The many-founding organ peals on high,

The clear flow-dittied chaunt, or varied hymn,

Cherwell, ver. I. "her ofier-woven bower." Ode on Summer, ver. 137. "each mofs-wove border." Below, ver. 257. " The thickwove laurel." Compare alfo Ode on Summer, ver. 182. "Its fide with mantling woodbines wove."

V. 190.

frolic Zephyr] L'Allegro, ver. 18:

The frolic wind, that breathes the spring,
Zephyr.

V. 196. The taper'd choir,] Ode at Vale-royal, ver. 32: "The taper'd rites."

V. 199. The clear flow-dittied chaunt, or varied hymn,] The fondness for choir-fervice, which Warton very early in his life entertained, feems to have continued with him throughout it, and has produced feveral allufions in his different poems. To that now before us I add the following.

Ode at Vale-royal, ver. 36:

I feem to liften to the chaunting quire.

Suicide, ver. 67:

What, tho' refus'd each chaunted rite.

Grave of Arthur, ver. 118:

There with chaunted orifon,

And the long blaze of tapers clear.

Till all my foul is bath'd in ecftafies,
And lapp'd in Paradife. Or let me fit

Infeription in a Hermitage, ver. 29:

Then, as my taper waxes dim,

Chaunt, ere I fleep, my meafur'd bymn.

See alfo Triumph of Ifis, ver. 157:

Ye temples dim, where pious duty pays
Her holy hymns of ever-echoing praise.

And Grave of Arthur, ver. 179:

He plans the chauntry's choral fhrine,

The daily dirge, and rites divine.

200

To mark repetitions of this kind is not altogether ufelefs, as fuch things are of fervice in developing or illuftrating a character. I hazard a suggestion that this fondness for choir-service may have been, though infenfibly, the cause that our poet has repeatedly made use of the word "chaunt," applied to poetical compofition, and to exprefs fimply finging.

V. 199. The clear flow-dittied chaunt,] Il Penferofo, 163. “anthems clear," &c. Comus, ver. 86, " smooth-dittied fong."

V. 200. Till all my foul is bath'd in ecftafies,
And lapp'd in Paradise.]

Il Penferofo, ver. 161:

There let the pealing organ blow

To the full-voic'd quire below,

In fervice high and anthems clear,

As may with fweetnefs, through mine ear,

Diffolve me into ecftafies,

And bring all heaven before my eyes.

Comus, ver. 256:

Who, as they fung, would take the prifon'd foul,

And lap it in Elyfium.

See alfo Spenfer, F. 2. IV. ii. 9:

That having caft him in a foolish trance,

He feemed brought to bed in Paradife.

To whom perhaps it came from Chaucer; Floure and Leaft,

ver, 113:

Far in fequefter'd iles of the deep dome,
There lonesome liften to the facred founds,
Which, as they lengthen thro' the Gothic vaults,
In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear. 205
Nor when the lamps expiring yield to night,
And folitude returns, would I forfake-

The folemn manfion, but attentive mark
The due clock fwinging flow with sweepy sway,
Measuring Time's flight with momentary found.

Whereof I had fo inly grete plefure,

As methought I furely ravishid was
Into Paradife.

Dryden's paraphrafe of the last paffage, which by the way blends fome of the expreffions in the two former, may be confidered as a very fair specimen of the manner in which he fills up the outline of his great original:

And I fo ravish'd with her heav'nly note,

I ftood intranc'd, and had no room for thought,

But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of blifs,

I seemed brought to bed in Paradise.

V. 200. my foul is bath'd in ecftafies,] Ode on Summer, ver. 126:

Batbes my blithe heart in ecftafies.

Comus, ver. 812:

Will bathe the drooping fpirits in delight.

But the metaphor is common in Spenfer, under its various modifications of batbed, fwimming, drowned, in pleasure.

V. 209. The due clock fwinging flow] In The Hamlet, ver. 28. "the curfeu echoes duly." Il Penferofo, ver. 76. " Swinging flow "with fullen roar."

Ibid.

with fweepy fway,] Gray's Fragment on Education and

Government:

And where the deluge burft with fweepy fway.

Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse, Divine Melpomene, fweet Pity's nurse, Queen of the stately step, and flowing pall. Now let Monimia mourn with streaming eyes Her joys incestuous, and polluted love: Now let foft Juliet in the gaping tomb

216

220

Print the last kifs on her true Romeo's lips,
His lips yet reeking from the deadly draught:
Or Jaffier kneel for one forgiving look.
Nor feldom let the Moor on Defdemone
Pour the mifguided threats of jealous rage.
By foft degrees the manly torrent steals
From my
fwoln eyes; and at a brother's woe
My big heart melts in fympathizing tears.

225

What are the fplendors of the gaudy court, Its tinfel trappings, and its pageant pomps?

V. 217. Now let foft Juliet in the gaping tomb, &c.] See A&t. v.
Jul. What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true-love's hand?

-I will kifs thy lips :

Haply fome poifon yet does hang on them.

Thy lips are warm.

V. 227. Its tinfel trappings, and its pageant pomps?] Par. Loft, ix. 36:

Bafes and tinfel trappings, gorgeous knights, &c.

L'Allegro, ver. 127:

And pomp and feaft and revelry

With mask and antique pageantry.

To me far happier feems the banish'd lord,
Amid Siberia's unrejoicing wilds

235

Who pines all lonesome, in the chambers hoar 230
Of fome high caftle fhut, whofe windows dim
In diftant ken difcover tracklefs plains,
Where Winter ever whirls his icy car;
While still repeated objects of his view,
The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires,
That crown the folitary dome, arise;
While from the topmoft turret the flow clock,
Far heard along th' inhofpitable waftes,
With fad-returning chime awakes new grief;
Ev'n he far happier feems than is the proud, 240
The potent Satrap, whom he left behind
'Mid Moscow's golden palaces, to drown
In ease and luxury the laughing hours.

Illustrious objects strike the gazer's mind With feeble blifs, and but allure the fight, 245 Nor rouze with impulse quick th' unfeeling heart.

V. 233. Where Winter ever whirls his icy car;] Milton on the death of a fair infant, ver. 15. reprefents Winter" in icy-pearled "car." But see The Passion, ver. 36:

See, see the chariot and those rushing wheels,

That whirld the Prophet up at Chebar flood.

Drayton fays of the Britons, "they could wield their armed cars." Poly-olb. S. x. vol. iii. p. 850. Our poet again in Newmarket, ver. 174:

Whirld the fwift axle through the Pythian duft.