Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/43

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And led the Maid along a narrow path,Dark gleaming to the light of far-off flames,More dread than darkness. Soon the distant soundOf clanking anvils, and the lengthened breathProvoking fire are heard: and now they reachA wide expanded den where all aroundTremendous furnaces, with hellish blaze,Flamed dreadful. At the heaving bellows stoodThe meagre form of Care, and as he blewTo augment the fire, the fire augmented scorch'dHis wretched limbs: sleepless for ever thusHe toil'd and toil'd, of toil to reap no endBut endless toil and never-ending woe.
An aged man went round the infernal vault,Urging his workmen to their ceaseless task:White were his locks, as is the wintry snowOn hoar Plinlimmon's head. A golden staffHis steps supported; powerful talisman,Which whoso feels shall never feel again
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