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Now the strains to silence stealing,
Soft in ecstacies expire;

Oh! with what romantic feeling

Poor ALCEUS grasps the Lyre ! Lo! his furious hand he flings

In a tempest o'er the strings;

He strikes the chords so quick, so 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 Muse's sons are blest, though born

"To cold neglect, and penury, and scoru.

What, though all the world neglect me,

"Shall my haughty soul repine ? "And shall poverty deject me,

"While this hallow'd Lyre is mine? "Heaven-that o'er my helpless head "Many a wrathful vial shed,

"Heaven gave this Lyre-and thus decreed, "Be thou a bruis'd, but not a broken reed!"


AH! why, unfeeling WINTER! why
Still flags thy torpid wing?

Fly, Melancholy Season, fly,..

And yield the year to SPRING.

SPRING,-the young harbinger of love,
An exile in disgrace,—

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

Nor finds a resting-place.

When on the mountain's azure peak

Alights her fairy form,

Cold blow the winds,-and dark and bleak

Around her rolls the storm.

If to the valley she repair

For shelter and defence,

Thy wrath pursues the mourner there, And drives her, weeping, thence.

She seeks the brook, the faithless brook, Of her unmindful grown,

Feels the chill magic of thy look,

And lingers into stone.

She wooes her embryo-flowers in vain
To rear their infant heads ;-
Deaf to her voice, her flowers remain
Enchanted in their beds.

In vain she bids the trees expand
Their green luxuriant charms ;-
Bare in the wilderness they stand,

And stretch their withering arms.

Her favourite birds, in feeble notes,

Lament thy long delay;

And strain their little stammering throats

To charm thy blasts away.

Ah, WINTER! calm thy cruel rage,

Release the struggling year;

Thy power is past, decrepid Sage!

Arise and disappear.

The stars that graced thy splendid night

Are lost in warmer rays;

The Sun, rejoicing in his might,

Unrolls celestial days.

Then why, usurping WINTER, why
Still flags thy frozen wing?

Fly, unrelenting tyrant, fly

And yield the year to SPRING!

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