Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/272

 , approach! within this iron door Thrice locked and bolted, this rude arch beneath That vaults with ponderous stone the cell; confined By man, the great magician, who controuls Fire, earth and air, and genii of the storm, And bends the most remote and opposite things To do him service and perform his will,— A giant sits; stern Winter; here he piles, While summer glows around, and southern gales Dissolve the fainting world, his treasured snows Within the rugged cave. Stranger, approach! He will not cramp thy limbs with sudden age, Nor wither with his touch the coyest flower That decks thy scented hair. Indignant here,