But let me to my story: I must own, If I have any fault, it is digression, Leaving my people to proceed alone, While I soliloquize beyond expression: But these are my addresses from the throne, Which put off business to the ensuing session: Forgetting each omission is a loss to The world, not quite so great as Ariosto. XCVII. I know that what our neighbours call _"longueurs,"_ (We've not so good a _word_, but have the _thing_, In that complete perfection which insures An epic from Bob Southey every spring--) Form not the true temptation which allures The reader; but 't would not be hard to bring Some fine examples of the _Epopée_, To prove its grand ingredient is _Ennui_.[216] XCVIII. We learn from Horace, "Homer sometimes sleeps;"[217] We feel without him,--Wordsworth sometimes wakes,-- To show with what complacency he creeps, With his dear "_Waggoners_," around his lakes.[218] He wishes for "a boat" to sail the deeps-- Of Ocean?--No, of air; and then he makes Another outcry for "a little boat," And drivels seas to set it well afloat.[219] XCIX. If he must fain sweep o'er the ethereal plain, And Pegasus runs restive in his "Waggon," Could he not beg the loan of Charles's Wain? Or pray Medea for a single dragon?[220] Or if, too classic for his vulgar brain, He feared his neck to venture such a nag on, And he must needs mount nearer to the moon, Could not the blockhead ask for a balloon? C. "Pedlars," and "Boats," and "Waggons!" Oh! ye shades Of Pope and Dryden, are we come to this? That trash of such sort not alone evades Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack Cades Of sense and song above your graves may hiss-- The "little boatman" and his _Peter Bell_ Can sneer at him who drew "Achitophel!"[221] CI. T' our tale.--The feast was over, the slaves gone, The dwarfs and dancing girls had all retired; The Arab lore and Poet's song were done, And every sound of revelry expired; The lady and her lover, left alone, The rosy flood of Twilight's sky admired;-- Ave Maria! o'er the earth and sea, That heavenliest hour of Heaven is worthiest thee! CII. Ave Maria! blesséd be the hour! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth--so beautiful and soft-- While swung the deep bell in the distant tower,[de] Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer. CIII.