Alas! what boots it?--who can hide, When the malicious Fates are bent On working out an ill intent? Can destiny be turned aside? 705 No--sad progress of my story! Benjamin, this outward glory Cannot shield [62] thee from thy Master, Who from Keswick has pricked forth, Sour and surly as the north; 710 And, in fear of some disaster, Comes to give what help he may, And [63] to hear what thou canst say; If, as needs he must forebode, [64] Thou hast been loitering [65] on the road! 715 His fears, his doubts, [66] may now take flight-- The wished-for object is in sight; Yet, trust the Muse, it rather hath Stirred him up to livelier wrath; Which he stifles, moody man! 720 With all the patience that he can; To the end that, at your meeting, He may give thee decent greeting. There he is--resolved to stop, Till the waggon gains the top; 725 But stop he cannot--must advance: Him Benjamin, with lucky glance, Espies--and instantly is ready, Self-collected, poised, and steady: And, to be the better seen, 730 Issues from his radiant shroud, From his close-attending cloud, With careless air and open mien. Erect his port, and firm his going; So struts yon cock that now is crowing; 735 And the morning light in grace Strikes upon his lifted face, Hurrying the pallid hue away That might his trespasses betray. But what can all avail to clear him, 740 Or what need of explanation, Parley or interrogation? For the Master sees, alas! That unhappy Figure near him, Limping o'er the dewy grass, 745 Where the road it fringes, sweet, Soft and cool to way-worn feet; And, O indignity! an Ass, By his noble Mastiffs side, Tethered to the waggon's tail: 750 And the ship, in all her pride, Following after in full sail! Not to speak of babe and mother; Who, contented with each other, And snug as birds in leafy arbour, 755 Find, within, a blessed harbour!