The Pilgrimage


I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay
                                    My expectation.
            A long way it was and weary way
            The gloomy cave of Desperation
I left on th' one, and on the other side
                                    The rock of Pride.

And so I came to phansies medow strow'd
                                    With many a flower:
            Fain would I here have made abode,
            But I was quicken'd by my houre.
So to cares cops I came, and there got through
                                    With much ado.

That led me to the wilde of passion, which
                                    Some call the wold;
            A wasted place, but sometimes rich.
            Here I was robb'd of all my gold,
Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd
                                    Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
                                    Where lay my hope,
            Where lay my heart; and climbing still,
            When I had gain'd the brow and top,
A lake of brackish waters on the ground
                                    Was all I found.

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting
                                    Of swarming fears,
            I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King;
            Can both the way and end be tears?
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd
                                    I was deceiv'd:

My hill was further: so I flung away,
                                    Yet heard a crie
            Just as I went, None goes that way
            And lives: If that be all, said I,
After so foul a journey death is fair,
                                    And but a chair.


George Herbert.