Can any mortal clog come to her? [J]
  No notion have they—­not a thought,
  That is from joyless regions brought! 
  And, while they coast the silent lake,
  Their inspiration I partake; 475
  Share their empyreal spirits—­yea,
  With their enraptured vision, see—­
  O fancy—­what a jubilee! 
  What shifting pictures—­clad in gleams
  Of colour bright as feverish dreams! 480
  Earth, spangled sky, and lake serene,
  Involved and restless all—­a scene
  Pregnant with mutual exaltation,
  Rich change, and multiplied creation! 
  This sight to me the Muse imparts;—­485
  And then, what kindness in their hearts! 
  What tears of rapture, what vow-making,
  Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking! 
  What solemn, vacant, interlacing,
  As if they’d fall asleep embracing! 490
  Then, in the turbulence of glee,
  And in the excess of amity,
  Says Benjamin, “That Ass of thine,
  He spoils thy sport, and hinders mine: 
  If he were tethered to the waggon, 495
  He’d drag as well what he is dragging;
  And we, as brother should with brother,
  Might trudge it alongside each other!”

    Forthwith, obedient to command,
  The horses made a quiet stand; 500
  And to the waggon’s skirts was tied
  The Creature, by the Mastiff’s side,
  The Mastiff wondering, and perplext
  With dread of what will happen next;
  And thinking it but sorry cheer, 505
  To have such company so near! [47]

    This new arrangement made, the Wain
  Through the still night proceeds again;
  No Moon hath risen her light to lend;
  But indistinctly may be kenned 510
  The VANGUARD, following close behind,
  Sails spread, as if to catch the wind!

    “Thy wife and child are snug and warm,
  Thy ship will travel without harm;
  I like,” said Benjamin, “her shape and stature:  515
  And this of mine—­this bulky creature
  Of which I have the steering—­this,
  Seen fairly, is not much amiss! 
  We want your streamers, friend, you know;
  But, altogether [48] as we go, 520
  We make a kind of handsome show! 
  Among these hills, from first to last,
  We’ve weathered many a furious blast;
  Hard passage forcing on, with head
  Against the storm, and canvass spread. 525
  I hate a boaster; but to thee
  Will say’t, who know’st both land and sea,
  The unluckiest hulk that stems [49] the brine
  Is hardly worse beset than mine,
  When cross-winds on her quarter beat; 530
  And, fairly lifted from my feet,
  I stagger onward—­heaven knows