WHILE  fane with solemn step we trod,
And view'd the votive honours of the God,
A pictur'd tablet, o'er the portal rais'd,
Attach'd our eye: in wonder lost, we gaz'd.
The pencil there some strange device had wrought,
And fables, all its own, disguis'd the thought.
Nor camp it seem'd, nor city: the design,
Whose moral mock'd our labour to divine,
Was a wall'd court, where rose another bound,
And, higher still, a third still less'ning ground.
The nether area open'd, at a gate
Where a vast crowd impatient seem'd to wait.
Within, a group of female figures stood,
In motley dress, a sparkling multitude.
Without, in station at the porch, was seen
A venerable form, in act and mien
Like some great teacher who with urgent tongue,
Authoritative, warn'd the rushing throng.
From doubt to doubt we wander'd; when appear'd
A sire, who thus the hard solution clear'd.