MISCELLANEOUS. 85 



And catching all the Muses' fire 

 Hold converse with the tuneful quire. 



What pleasing themes thj page adorn I 

 The ruddy streaks of cheerful morn, 

 The pastoral pipe, the ode sublime, 

 And melancholy's mournful chime, 

 Each with unwonted graces shines 

 In thy ever lovely lines. 



Thy Muse deserves the lasting meed ; 

 Attuning sweet the Dorian reed, 

 Now the lovelorn swain complains, 

 And sings his sorrows to the plains ; 

 Now the sylvan scenes appear 

 Through all the changes of the year j 

 Or the elegiac strain 

 Softly sings of mental pain, 

 And moarnful diapasons sail 

 On the faintly-dying gale. 



But, ah ! the soothing scene is o'er ! 



On middle flight we cease to soar. 

 For now the Muse assumes a bolder sweep, 

 Strikes on the lyric string her sorrows deep, 



In strains unheard before. 

 Now, now the rising fire thrills high, 

 Now, now to heaven's high realms we fly, 



And every throne explore ; 

 The soul entranced, on mighty wings, 

 With all the poet's heat, up springs, 



And loses earthly woes ; 

 Till all alarmed at the giddy height, 

 The Muse descends on gentler flight, 



And lulls the weary soul to soft repose. 



