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with wings, and thus appropriates his metaphorical costume to his corporeal fashion and seeming. The conceit is not unclassical; but Pindar and the ancient lyrics arrogated to themselves the bodies of swans for their august residence. Our Gothic songster is content to be encaged by Cupid; and submits, like a young lady's favourite, to all the vagaries of giddy curiosity and tormenting fondness.

How sweet I roamed from field to field,
   And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld,
   Who in the sunny beams did glide!


He shewed me lilies for my hair,
   And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair,
   Where all his golden pleasures grow.


With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
   And Phœbus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
   And shut me in his golden cage.