Was with an act of kindness to begin, To make the sinner sure, and then t'attack the sin." {3} TALE X. THE LOVER'S JOURNEY. The sun is in the heavens, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton. SHAKESPEARE, King John. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet. Are of imagination all compact. Midsummer Night's Dream. Oh! how this spring of love resembleth Th' uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all her beauty to the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away. Two Gentlemen of Verona. And happily I have arrived at last Unto the wished haven of my bliss. Taming of the Shrew. --------------------- It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes Present the object, but the Mind descries; And thence delight, disgust, or cool indiff'rence rise: When minds are joyful, then we look around, And what is seen is all on fairy ground; Again they sicken, and on every view Cast their own dull and melancholy hue; Or, if absorb'd by their peculiar cares, The vacant eye on viewless matter glares, Our feelings still upon our views attend, And their own natures to the objects lend: Sorrow and joy are in their influence sure, Long as the passion reigns th' effects endure; But Love in minds his various changes makes, And clothes each object with the change he takes; His light and shade on every view he throws, And on each object what he feels bestows. Fair was the morning, and the month was June, When rose a Lover;--love awakens soon: Brief his repose, yet much he dreamt the while Of that day's meeting, and his Laura's smile: Fancy and love that name assign'd to her, Call'd Susan in the parish-register; And he no more was John--his Laura gave The name Orlando to her faithful slave. Bright shone the glory of the rising day, When the fond traveller took his favourite way; He mounted gaily, felt his bosom light, And all he saw was pleasing in his sight. "Ye hours of expectation, quickly fly, And bring on hours of bless'd reality; When I shall Laura see, beside her stand, Hear her sweet voice, and press her yielded hand." First o'er a barren heath beside the coast Orlando rode, and joy began to boast. "This neat low gorse," said he, "with golden bloom, Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume; And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers, A man at leisure might admire for hours; This green-fringed cup-moss has a scarlet tip, That yields to nothing but my Laura's lip; And then how fine this herbage! men may say A heath is barren; nothing is so gay: Barren or bare to call such charming scene Argues a mind possess'd by care and spleen." Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat, Dust rose in clouds before the horse's feet; For now he pass'd through lanes of burning sand, Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land; Where the dark poppy flourish'd on the dry And sterile soil, and mock'd the thin-set rye.