Police-runners on Earth, hangmen in Hell;
And mad Discord, wreathing her locks of gore
With vipers borrowed from her neighbours’ store.
For centre an old elm, immense in girth,
Keeps sunless, barren, a wide space of earth.
Rumour gives it to idle Dreams, which browze
Upon the leaves, and hang from all the boughs.
Nor far away in the same region dwells
Many a strange freak of whom legend tells;
Centaurs in the doorway, Scylla, fish, maid,