Say! HOWARD, fay! what may the Mufe,
Whofe melting eye thy merit views,
What guerdon may her love defign!

What may she ask for thee, from Power Divine,
Above the rich rewards which are already thine?

Sweet is the joy when Science flings
Her light on philofophic thought;
When Genius, with keen ardor, fprings
To clafp the lovely truth he fought:
Sweet is the joy, when Rapture's fire
Flows from the fpirit of the lyre;
When Liberty and Virtue roll

Spring-tides of fancy o'er the poet's foul,

That waft his flying bark thro' feas above the pole.

Sweet the delight when the gall'd heart

Feels Confolation's lenient hand

Bind up the wound from Fortune's dart
With Friendship's life-fupporting band!
And fweeter ftill, and far above

Thefe fainter joys, when pureft Love
The foul his willing captive keeps!

When he in blifs the melting fpirit fteeps,

Who drops delicious tears, and wonders that he weeps!

But not the brightest joy, which Arts,

In floods of mental light, beftow;

Nor what firm Friendship's zeal imparts,
Bleft antidote of bittereft woe!

Nor thofe that Love's sweet hours difpenfe,
Can equal the ecstatic sense,

When, fwelling to a fond excefs,

The grateful praises of reliev'd diftress,

Re-echoed thro' the heart, the foul of Bounty blefs.

Thefe tranfports, in no common flate,

Supremely pure, fublimely ftrong,
Above the reach of envious fate,
Bleft How ARD! thefe to thee belong :

While years encreafing o'er thee roll,
Long may this funfhine of the foul
New vigor to thy frame convey!

Its radiance thro' thy noon of life display,
And with fereneft light adorn thy clofing day!

And when the Power, who joys to save,
Proclaims the guilt of earth forgiven;
And calls the prifoners of the grave
To all the liberty of Heaven :

In that bright day, whofe wonders blind
The eye of the aftonih'd mind;

When life's glad angel fhall refume

His ancient fway, announce to Death his doom, And from existence drive that tyrant of the tomb :

In that bleft hour when Seraphs fing
The triumphs gain'd in human ftrife;
And to their new affociates bring
The wreaths of everlasting life:
May'st thou in Glory's hallow'd blaze,
Approach the Eternal fount of Praife,
With those who lead the angelic van,
Thofe pure adherents to our Saviour's plan,
Who liv'd but to relieve the Miseries of Man!

FIN1 S.