II.
She touch’d him with her harp, and rais’d him from the ground;
The shaken strings melodiously resound.
Art thou return’d at last, said she,
To this forsaken place and me?
Thou prodigal, who didst so loosely waste
Of all thy youthful years, the good estate?
Art thou return’d here to repent too late;
And gather husks of learning up at last,
Now the rich harvest-time of life is past,
And Winter marches on so fast?
But when I meant t’adopt thee for my son,
And did as learn’d a portion thee assign,
As ever any of the mighty Nine
Had to her dearest children done;
When I resolv’d t’exalt thy anointed name,
Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame[59];
Thou changeling, thou, bewitch’d with noise and show,
Would’st into courts and cities from me go;
Would’st see the world abroad, and have a share
In all the follies, and the tumults there.
Thou would’st, forsooth, be something in a state,
And business thou would’st find, and would’st create:
Business! the frivolous pretence
Of humane lusts to shake off innocence:
Business! the grave impertinence:
Business! the thing which I of all things hate:
Business! the contradiction of thy fate.