Not long he brooks this torturing delay,
But soon tow’rd Salem through the forest goes,
Nor will the Muse go with him on his way,
And sing in horrid shades each night’s repose,
Until she, shuddering, mingle with her lay,
And seem herself to bear her hero’s woes;
Let it suffice that on the third day’s dawn,
He gazed from Salem woods on Salem town.
IV.