5 For she had wisely ordered it to be Gilded with Liberty's enchanting name; Whence cheated nations, who before were free, Into her flattering chains for freedom came. Thus her strange conquests overtook the sun Who rose and set in her dominion. 6 But thick within the line erected were Innumerable prisons, plated round With massy iron and with jealous fear: And in those forts of barbarism, profound And miry dungeons, where contagious stink, Cold, anguish, horror, had their dismal sink. 7 In these, pressed down with chains of fretting brass, Ten thousand innocent lambs did bleating lie; Whose groans, reported by the hollow place, Summoned compassion from the passers by; Whom they, alas! no less relentless found, Than was the brass which them to sorrow bound. 8 For they designed for the shambles were To feast the tyrant's greedy cruelty, Who could be gratified with no fare But such delight of savage luxury. END. 1 Sweet End, thou sea of satisfaction, which The weary streams unto thy bosom tak'st; The springs unto the spring thou first doth reach, And, by thine inexhausted kindness, mak'st Them fall so deep in love with thee, that through All rocks and mountains to thy arms they flow. 2 Thou art the centre, in whose close embrace, From all the wild circumference, each line Directly runs to find its resting-place: Upon their swiftest wings, to perch on thine Ennobling breast, which is their only butt, The arrows of all high desires are shot. 3 All labours pant and languish after thee, Stretching their longest arms to catch their bliss; Which in the way, how sweet soe'er it be, They never find; and therefore on they press Further and further, till desired thou, Their only crown, meet'st their ambition's brow. 4 With smiles the ploughman to the smiling spring Returns not answer, but is jealous till His patient hopes thy happy season bring Unto their ripeness with his corn, and fill His barns with plenteous sheaves, with joy his heart; For thou, and none but thou, his harvest art. 5 The no less sweating and industrious lover Lays not his panting heart to rest upon Kind looks and gracious promises, which hover On love's outside, and may as soon be gone As easily they came; but strives to see His hopes and nuptials ratified by thee. 6 The traveller suspecteth every way, Though they thick traced and fairly beaten be; Nor is secure but that his leader may Step into some mistake as well as he; Or that his strength may fail him; till he win Possession of thee, his wished inn. 7 Nobly besmeared with Olympic dust, The hardy runner prosecutes his race With obstinate celerity, in trust That thou wilt wipe and glorify his face: His prize's soul art thou, whose precious sake Makes him those mighty pains with pleasure take.