"Then shall Mifery's fons and daughters "In their lowly dwellings fing;

-"Bounteous as the Nile's dark waters,

"Undifcover'd as their fpring,

"I will fcatter, o'er the land,

"Bleffings with a fecret hand

;

-"For fuch angelic tasks defign'd,

"I give the Lyre and forrow to the wind."

On an oak, whofe branches hoary

Sigh'd to every paffing breeze,

Sigh'd, and told the fimple ftory

Of the patriarch of trees;

High in air his harp he hung,

Now no more to rapture ftrung;

Then warm in hope, no longer pale,

He blufh'd adieu, and rambled down the dale.

Lightly touch'd by fairy fingers,

Hark! the Lyre enchants the wind;

Fond ALCEUS liftens, lingers,

-Lingering, liftening, looks behind

Now the music mounts on high,

Sweetly fwelling through the fky;

To every tone, with tender heat,

Iis heart-ftrings vibrate, and his pulfes beat.

Now the ftrains to filence ftealing,

Soft in ecftacies expire;

Oh! with what romantic feeling

Poor ALCAUS grafps the Lyre!

Lo! his furious hand he flings,

In a tempeft o'er the strings;

He ftrikes the chords fo quick, fo loud,

'Tis Jove that scatters lightning from a cloud!

"Lyre! O, Lyre! my chosen treasure,

"Solace of my bleeding heart;

"Lyre! O, Lyre! my only pleasure,

"We will never, never part!

“Glory, Commerce, now in vain,

"Tempt me to the field, the main;

"The Mufe's Sons are bleft, tho' born

"To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

"What, tho' all the world neglect me,

"Shall my haughty foul repine?

"And shall poverty deje& me,

"While this hallow'd lyre is mine?

"Heaven,—that o'er my helpless head,

"Many a wrathful vial fhed,

-"Heaven gave this lyre !—and thus decreed,

"Be thou a bruised, but not a broken reed!”

REMONSTRANCE TO WINTER.

AH! why, unfeeling WINTER! Why

Still flags thy torpid wing?

Fly, melancholy Seafon, fly,

And yield the year to SPRING.

SPRING,-the young cherubim of love,

An exile in disgrace,—

Flits o'er the scene, like NOAH's dove,

Nor finds a refting place.

When on the mountain's azure peak,

Alights her fairy form,

Cold blow the winds,-and dark and bleak,

Around her rolls the form.