Thus freed the maze of error, forth we roveOn our grand tour of reason and delight;Whether to pause among the holy relicsOf Palestine, and view the cave and fountainWhence great St. John emerged with burning eyeTo make the greater Prophet's pathway plain,Or find each several scene of that high SufferingBy which we hope at length to inhabit heaven.Truth §till shall guide us; even at Scanderoon,Though Jonah's Pillar be alleged the placeWhere the vast Fish disgorged the man of grief,We must reserve some doubt. Yet, did we yieldEntire persuasion there, our fault were lessThan what some dreaming ancients make, who'd holdThe Whale swam round one quarter of the WorldWithin three sunsets. O most crude Excess,Base Non-Geography, ye weeds of life,And obstinate as Jews, who would not hearThe Joyful Gospel first announced to themBy Christ with musical appeal, heard not,Saw not, and keep their stiff necks to this day.
Still as we go, the teeming mind of HeavenSupplies each query, and wonder walks with use:Our trees, in temperate Britain, that embowerNoble estates, and cool the alehouse bench,Become those wooden walls that Spain respects,
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