Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/251

Rh

The waves, thrown back upon the brink;

But, rashly venturing, many sink

For ever ’neath the o’er whelming flood,

And from the rank and noisome mud.

That clogs its cavern depths, no more

Shall gain the light, or win the shore.

This horrible flood doth boil and churn,

With many a vagrant twist and turn,

Through gorges numberless, and thus,

At last its waters poisonous,

That reek with odours foul, and steam

With noisome vapours, meet the stream

So pure and limpid, and to it

Their own vile mirous filth transmit,

Fulfilled of direful pestilence,

And sickening every finer sense;

The waters of the pleasant pool

Flow on no longer calm and cool,

And that same stream that higher gave

Forth perfumes delicate and suave

Becomes a fetid torrent, curst

With odours that from hell might burst.

Not on the crest of mountain tall,

But where its flank doth sloping fall,

Above the plain, in crumbling state,

As ready to succumb to fate,

Is Fortune’s mansion dight. No rage

There is of stormy winds that wage

Wild war, that falls not on it. Fierce

And strong the tempests are that pierce

That dwelling. Rarely Zephyr soft

Descendeth gently from aloft