Now no roses pluck. for thee,Though 'tis springtime, Fanny mine,
Can it the gods offend?For I observe thou hold'st thy nose--
What I had fail'd in, and what rightly done.She smiled, and cured me with that smile's sweet grace,
Billow! thy beautiful blue seems to me dark as the night.All were now in movement; a boy to the house of my father
And their heavenly choral songTeaches me to dream of love.
Solemnly your temples round;Rapture glows in hearts divine
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?The father it is, with his infant so dear;He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.
In spirit pay homage;
Our master dear was, after this,On Nature thinking, full of bliss,When tow'rd him, from the other sideHe saw an aged woman glide;The name she bears, Historia,Mythologia, Fabula;With footstep tottering and unstableShe dragg'd a large and wooden carved-table,Where, with wide sleeves and human mien,The Lord was catechizing seen;Adam, Eve, Eden, the Serpent's seduction,Gomorrah and Sodom's awful destruction,The twelve illustrious women, too,That mirror of honour brought to view;All kinds of bloodthirstiness, murder, and sin,The twelve wicked tyrants also were in,And all kinds of goodly doctrine and law;Saint Peter with his scourge you saw,With the world's ways dissatisfied,And by our Lord with power supplied.Her train and dress, behind and before,And e'en the seams, were painted o'erWith tales of worldly virtue and crime.--Our master view'd all this for a time;The sight right gladly he survey'd,So useful for him in his trade,Whence he was able to procureExample good and precept sure,Recounting all with truthful care,As though he had been present there.His spirit seem'd from earth to fly,He ne'er had turned away his eye,Did he not just behind him hearA rattle of bells approaching near.And now a fool doth catch his eye,With goat and ape's leap drawing nighA merry interlude preparingWith fooleries and jests unsparing.Behind him, in a line drawn out,He dragg'd all fools, the lean and stout,The great and little, the empty and full,All too witty, and all too dull,A lash he flourish'd overhead,As though a dance of apes he led,Abusing them with bitterness,As though his wrath would ne'er grow less.