CHAPTER IV.
How the heroes of Communipaw voyaged to Hell-Gate,
and how they were received there.
And now the rosy blush of morn began
to mantle in the east, and soon the
rising sun, emerging from amidst golden
and purple clouds, shed his blithesome
rays on the tin weathercocks of Communipaw.
It was that delicious season of
the year, when nature, breaking from
the chilling thraldom of old winter, like
a blooming damsel from the tyranny of
a sordid old father, threw herself, blushing
with ten thousand charms, into the
arms of youthful spring. Every tufted
copse and blooming grove resounded with
the notes of hymeneal love. The very
insects, as they sipped the dew that
gemmed the tender grass of the meadows,
joined in the joyous epithalamium
—the virgin bud timidly put forth its
blushes, "the voice of the turtle was
heard in the land," and the heart of man
dissolved away in tenderness. Oh! sweet
Theocritus! had I thine oaten reed,
wherewith thou erst didst charm the gay
Sicilian plains—or oh! gentle Bion! thy
pastoral pipe, wherein the happy swains
of the Lesbian isle so much delighted,
then might I attempt to sing, in soft
