SPHINX. 
There, long secluded in his lonely cell. 
Forgets the sun, and bids the world farewell. 
O’er the wide waste the wintry tempests reign. 
And driving snows usurp the frozen plain. 
In vain the tempest beats, the whirlwind blows ■, 
No storms can violate his grave’s repose. 
But when revolving months have won their way. 
When smile the woods, and when the zephyrs play, 
When laugh the vivid world in summer’s bloom. 
He bursts and flies triumphant from the tomb. 
And while his new-born beauties he displays. 
With conscious joy his altered form surveys. 
Mark, while he moves amid the sunny beam. 
O’er his soft wings the varying lustre gleam. 
Launch’d into air, on purple plumes he soars. 
Gay Nature’s face with wanton glance explores ; 
Proud of his various beauties wings his way. 
And spoils the fairest flowers, himself more fair than they 
And deems weak man the future promise vain. 
When worms can die, and glorious rise again ? 
