His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast Of some great ammiral were but a wand, He walk'd with to support uneasy steps Over the burning marle.

Few sometimes may know, when thousands err.

From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.

The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to owe; Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd; what burden then?

The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain).

It is Chastity, my brother. She that has that is clad in complete steel.

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.