But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone,

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call, to Faun 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 leapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

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 loved the best : They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempè's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,

Love framed 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.

Oh, 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 loved Athenian bower,
You learned an all-commanding power;

Thy mimic soul, oh, nymph endeared,
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 godlike age
Fill thy recording Sister's page.
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
Even all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound.
Oh! bid your vain endeavors cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state;

Confirm the tales her sons relate!

Collins's grand lines, The Patriot's Grave, are among the finest of their class:

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.

SHENSTONE'S highest effort was his Schoolmistress.

extract:

Here is an

In every village marked with little spire,
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to fame,
There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire,

A matron old, whom we schoolmistress name,
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame;
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent,

Awed by the power of this relentless dame;
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,

For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are sorely shent.

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did stowe;
Whilom a twig of small regard to see,

Though now so wide its waving branches flow,
And work the simple vassals mickle woe:
For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew,

But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse beat low :
And as they looked, they found their horror grew,
And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the view.

Near to this dome is found a patch so green,
On which the tribe their gambols do display;

And at the door imprisoning board is seen,

Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray,
Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day!

The noises intermixed, which thence resound,
Do learning's little tenement betray;

Where sits the dame, disguised in look profound,
And eves her fairy throng, and turns her wheel around.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow,
Emblem right meet of decency does yield;

Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trow,
As is the hare-bell that adorns the field :
And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield

Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear entwined,
With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled;
And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction joined,
And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement unkind.

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown;
A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air;

'Twas simple russet, but it was her own;

'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair! 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare; And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around, Through pious awe, did term it passing rare; For they in gaping wonderment abound,

And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground.

In elbow-chair (like that of Scottish stem,

By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced,
In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is placed)
The matron sat; and some with rank she graced
(The source of children's and of courtiers' pride!),
Redressed affronts, for vile affronts there passed;
And warned them not the fretful to deride,

But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

Unlike most other poets, YOUNG preferred to dilate upon themes connected with the shady side of life, rather than its cheerful aspects. This gloomy proclivity of his pen is the more remarkable from the fact that he was, even to old age, far from being insensible to worldly influences and enjoyments. Schlegel thinks that he was affected in his misanthropy, and unnatural in his pathos. The following incident does not seem to conflict with that opinion :

Young was one day walking in his garden at Welwyn, in company with two ladies (one of whom he afterwards married); the servant came to acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak with him. "Tell him," said the doctor, "I am too happily engaged to change my situation.” The ladies insisted he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron and his friend; but as persuasion had no effect, one took him by the right arm and the other by the left, and led him to the garden gate; when, finding resistance