"Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay, Rest till evening steal on day; Stay, O, stay!--in yonder bowers We will braid thy locks with flowers, Spread the feast and fill the wine, Charm thy ear with sounds divine, Weave our dances till delight Yield to languor, day to night. "Then shall she you most approve, Sing the lays that best you love, Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, Watch thy pillow, prop thy head, Till the weary night be o'er-- Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more? Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior,--she Is slave to Love and slave to thee." O, do not hold it for a crime In the bold hero of my rhyme. For Stoic look, And meet rebuke, He lack'd the heart or time; And round the band of sirens trip, He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip, And press'd another's proffer'd hand, Spoke to them all in accents bland, But broke their magic circle through; "Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu! My fate, my fortune, forward lies." He said, and vanish'd from their eyes; But, as he dared that darksome way, Still heard behind their lovely lay: "Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart! Go, where the feelings of the heart With the warm pulse in concord move; Go, where Virtue sanctions Love!" Downward De Vaux through darksome ways And ruin'd vaults has gone, Till issue from their wilder'd maze, Or safe retreat, seem'd none, And e'en the dismal path he strays Grew worse as he went on. For cheerful sun, for living air, Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare, Whose fearful light the dangers show'd That dogg'd him on that dreadful road. Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, They show'd, but show'd not how to shun, These scenes of desolate despair, These smothering clouds of poison'd air, How gladly had De Vaux exchanged, Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged! Nay, soothful bards have said, So perilous his state seem'd now, He wish'd him under arbour bough With Asia's willing maid. When, joyful sound! at distance near A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, And as it ceased, a lofty lay Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way:-- "Son of Honour, theme of story, Think on the reward before ye! Danger, darkness, toil despise; 'Tis ambition bids thee rise. "He that would her heights ascend, Many a weary step must wend; Hand and foot and knee he tries, Thus ambition's minions rise. "Lag not now, though rough the way, Fortune's mood brooks no delay; Grasp the boon that's spread before ye, Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory!"