Nay more, to believe

"All the sage poets, taught by th' heavenly muse,

Storied of old, in high immortal verse,

Of dire chimæras and enchanted isles;"

and to fancy we hear from among the woody cliffs, near the shore,

"the sound

Of riot and ill manag'd merriment,"

succeeded by such strains as oft

"in pleasing slumbers lull the sense,

And, in sweet madness, rob it of itself."