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From golden harp thou call'st seraphic lays;
Or, anxious for thy dearest Virtue's fare,
Thou still art hov'ring o'er our tuneless sphere,
And mov'st some hidden spring her weal to raise.
Or, anxious for thy dearest Virtue's fare,
Thou still art hov'ring o'er our tuneless sphere,
And mov'st some hidden spring her weal to raise.
Thus the fond swain on doric oate essay'd,
Manhood's prime honours downing on his cheek:
Trembling he strove to court the tuneful maid
With stripling arts, and dalliance all too weak;
Unseen, unheard, beneath an hawthorn shade.
But now dun clouds the welkin 'gan to streak;
And now down-dropt the larks, and ceas'd their strain:
They ceas'd, and with them ceas'd the shepherd swain.
Manhood's prime honours downing on his cheek:
Trembling he strove to court the tuneful maid
With stripling arts, and dalliance all too weak;
Unseen, unheard, beneath an hawthorn shade.
But now dun clouds the welkin 'gan to streak;
And now down-dropt the larks, and ceas'd their strain:
They ceas'd, and with them ceas'd the shepherd swain.
FINIS.
