Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But Oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulders flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

They

saw in Tempes Vale her native. Waids, Amidst the festal sounding Shades, To some unwearied Minstrel dancing.

Published by Cadell & Davies, Strand, Sep.1797

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial;

He with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.

They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,

Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing,

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastic round,

Loose were her tresses seen, 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 Music, sphere-descended maid,

Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,

Why, Goddess, why to us denied,

Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,

You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd!

Can well recall what then it heard.

Where is thy native simple heart,

Devote to virtue, fancy, art?

Arise, as in that elder time,

Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!

Thy wonders, in that god-like age,

Fill thy recording Sister's page

'Tis said, and I believe the tale,

Thy humblest reed could more prevail,