Next Anger rufh'd, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his fecret ftings,
In one rude clash he ftruck the lyre,
And fwept with hurried hand the ftrings.

With woeful measures wan Defpair,
Low füllen founds, his grief beguil'd;
A folemn, flrange, and mingled air,
'Twas fad by fits, by farts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes fo fair,
What was thy delighted measure ?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely fcenes at diftance hail!
Still would her touch the ftrain prolong,

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo fill through all the fong;
And where her fweeteft theme the chofe,

A foft responsive voice was heard at every close, And Hope enchanted fmil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had the fung-but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rofe,

He threw his blood-itain'd fword in thunder down,

And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blaft fo loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe..

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;

And though fometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his fidé

Her foul-fubduing voice applied,

Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mien ;

While each ftrain'd ball of fight feem'd burfting from hi Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, [head. Sad proof of thy diftressful flate!

Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd,

And now it courted Lové, now raving call'd on Hate With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,

Pale Melancholy fat rétir'd,

And from her wild fequefter'd feat, A

In notes by diftance made more fweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive foul
And dafhing foft from tocks around,'

Bubbling runnels join'd the found;

Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure fole.

Of o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay,
Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of peace, and lonely muling,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But, O, how alter'd was its fprightlier tonë!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthieft hue,
Her bow across her thoulder flung,

Her bufkins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an afpiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ;
The oak-crown'd fifters, and their chafte-eyed queen,
Satyrs and fylvan boys, were feen

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercife rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and feiz'd his beechen spear: Laft came Joy's ecflatie trial.

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrefs'd, But foon he faw the brifk-awakening viol, Whofe fweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best, They would have thought, who heard the flrain, They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidft the feftal founding fhades,

To fome unwearied minstrel dancing,

While, as his flying fingers kifs'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round;

Loose were her treffes feen, her zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
O Mufic, fphere-defcended maid,
Friend of pleafure, wifdom's aid,

Why, Goddefs, why, to us denied,

Lay'ft thou thy ancient lyre afide ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r,
You learn'd an all-commanding pow'r,

Thy

Thy mimic foul, O nymph endear'd,
Can well recal what then it heard.
Where is thy native fimple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arife, as in that elder time,
Warm, energic, chafle, fublime!
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording fifter's page-
'Tis faid, and I believe the tale,
Thy humbleft reed could more prevail,.
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found
Cæcilia's mingled world of found-
O, bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece,
Return in all thy fimple ftate,
Confirm the tales her fons relate!

HUMAN LIFE,

By Dr. YOUNG.

AH! what is human life?

How like the dial's tardy-moving fhade!
Day after day flides from us unperceiv'd !
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth ;:
Too fubtle is the movement to be seen :
Yet foon the hour is up-and we are gone.

ODE

ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

By Mr. COLLINS.

AS once, if not with light regard,

I read aright that gifted Bard

(Him whofe fchool above the rest
His lovelieft Elfin queen has blefs'd),
One, only one unrivall❜d fair*,
My hope the magic girdle wear,
At folemn tournay hung on high,
The wifh of each love-darting eye;
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,
As if, in air unfeen, fome hovering hand,
Some chafte and angel-friend to virgin-fame,
With whifper'd spell had burst the starting band,
It left unbleft her loath'd difhonour'd fide;
Happier hopeless fair, if never

Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divineft name,

To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
The ceft of ampleft pow'r is given,

To few the godlike gift affigns,

To gird their bleft prophetic loins,

And

gaze her vifions wild, and feel unmix'd her flame.

* Florimel. See Spenfer, Leg. 4.

The