THO' no bold flights to thee belong;
And tho' thy lays with conscious fear,
Shrink from Judgement's eye severe,
Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my
song!

For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ
Exalts my soul, refines my breast,
Gives each pure pleasure keener zest,
And softens sorrow into pensive Joy.
From thee I learn'd the wish to bless,
From thee to commune with my heart;
From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part,
To laugh with pity at the crowds that
press

Mien

my hour

braid.

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And O! if Eyes whose holy glances roll, Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul;

1 Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See Keate's Account of the Pelew Islands. 1788.

2 Southey's Retrospect.

When anguish'd care of sullen brow

Minstrel came,

Already to thy lips was rais'd the bowl,
When filial Pity stood thee by,
Thy fixed eyes she bade thee roll
On scenes that well might melt thy
soul-

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