They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream,
And mix in Milton s heavenly theme;
And Dryden, in immortal strain,
Had raised the Table Round again,*
But that a ribald king and court
Bade him toil on, to make them sport;
Demanded for their niggard pay,
Fit for their souls, a looser lay,
Licentious satire, song, and play;
The world defrauded of the high design, [lofty line.
Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the
Warmed by such names, well may we then,
Though dwindled sons of little men,
Essay to break a feeble lance
In the fair fields of old romance;
Or seek the moated castle's cell,
Where long through talisman and spell,
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept,
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept :
There sound the harpings of the North,
Till he awake and sally forth,
On venturous quest to prick again,
In all his arms, with all his train,
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf,
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf,
And wizard with his wand of might,
And errant maid on palfrey white.
Around the Genius weave their spells,
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells,
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed;
And Honour, with his spotless shield;
Attention, with fixed eye; and Fear,
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear;
And gentle Courtesy; and Faith,
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death;
Dryden had projected an epic poem, the subject of which was to have been the exploits of king Arthur; and had he been ena bled to accomplish such a work, it would have been undoubtedly a glorious monument of English genius, as well as record of English hercisin. But the ingratitude of Charles IL, and his cour fiers, by whom he was abandoned to poverty and neglect, obliged him to labour for his present wants, and the scheme was unfortunately abandoned.