Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame.

Ye imp o' death, how durst ye dwell Within this pure and hallow'd cell, Thy purposes I ken fu' well Are to destroy, And wi' a mortal breathing spell, To blast each joy!

What imps these eagles then, that they Fling disrespect on life by that proud way In which they soar above our lower clay.

Nature's kindling breath Must fire the chosen genius; Nature's hand Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings, Impatient of the painful steep, to soar High as the summit, there to breathe at large Ethereal air, with bards and sages old, Immortal sons of praise.

And when thou went'st, to Imp thy miserie, Did I not give thee means?

Ye imp o' death, how durst ye dwell Within this pure and hallow'd cell, Thy purposes I ken fu' well Are to destroy, And wi' a mortal breathing spell, To blast each joy!

Then yawns the bursting ground!two imps obscene Rise on broad wings, and hail the baleful queen; Each with dire grin salutes the potent wand, And leads the sorceress with his sooty hand; Onward they glide, where sheds the sickly yew 20 O'er many a mouldering bone its nightly dew; The ponderous portals of the church unbar, Hoarse on their hinge the ponderous portals jar;

But, as the devil owes all his imps a shame, 370 He chose the apostate for his proper theme; With little pains he made the picture true, And from reflection took the rogue he drew.

Witch and imps in a churchInspired PriestessFusseli's night-mareCave of Thor and subterranean NaïadsMedea and her childrenPalmira weeping Group of wild creatures drinkingPoison tree of JavaTime and hoursLady shot in battleWounded deerHarlotsLaocoon and his sonsDrunkards and diseasesPrometheus and the vultureLady burying her child in the plague Moses concealed on the NileSlavery of the AfricansWeeping Muse CANTO IV.

The next sleep is a long one, a deep one, and ghosts may pass over the sleeper, imps dance on his head, rats nibble at his provisions; he wakes not.

Nature's kindling breath Must fire the chosen genius; Nature's hand Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings, Impatient of the painful steep, to soar High as the summit, there to breathe at large Ethereal air, with bards and sages old, Immortal sons of praise.