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Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of diff ring themes the veering song was mix'd,
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sat retired,
And from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul;
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole:
Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing,
In hollow murmurs died away.
But oh ! how alter'd was its sprightly tone
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskin gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to fawn and dryad known
The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amid the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing: