To the pure foul by Fancy's fire refined, Ah what is mirth but turbulence unholy, When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy!

LVI.

Is there a heart that mufic cannot melt?
Ah me! how is that rugged heart forlorn!
Is there who ne'er those mystic transports felt
Of folitude and melancholy born?

He needs not woo the Mufe; he is her fcorn.
The fophift's rope of cobweb he fhall twine;
Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page; or mourn,
And delve for life, in Mammon's dirty mine;
Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton fwine.

LVII.

For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd ;
Song was his favourite and first pursuit.
The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand,
And languifh'd to his breath the plaintive flute,
His infant mufe, though artlefs, was not mute:
Of elegance as yet he took no care;

For this of time and culture is the fruit;
And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare:
As in fome future verfe I purpose to declare.
LVIII.

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new,
Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, fea, or sky,
By chance, or fearch was offer'd to his view,
He fcann'd with curious and romantic eye.
Whate'er of lore tradition could fupply
From Gothic tale, or fong, or fable old,
Rous'd him ftill keen to liften and to pry.
At last, though long by penury control'd,
And folitude, his foul her graces 'gan unfold.
LIX.

Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land,
For many a long month loft in fnow profound,

When Sol from Cancer fends the season bland, And in their northern cave the storms hath bound ; From filent mountains, ftraight, with startling found, Torrents are hurl'd; green hills emerge; and lo, The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crown'd; Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow.*

LX.

Here paufe my Gothic lyre, a little while.
The leisure hour is all that thou canft claim.

But if ***** on this labour smile,

New ftrains ere long shall animate thy frame :
And his applaufe to me is more than fame;
For ftill with truth accords his taste refined.
At lucre or renown let others aim,

I only wish to please the gentle mind,

Whom Natures charms inspire, and love of humankind.

Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. About the time the fun enters Cancer, their fields, which a week before were covered with fnow, appear of a sudden full of grafs and flowers.

SCHEFFER'S Hiftory of Lapland, p. 61.

THE

MINSTREL;

OR, THE

PROGRESS OF GENIUS.

THE SECOND BOOK.

Doctrina fed vim promovet infitam,

Rectique cultus pectoro roborant.

HORAT.

OF

1.

F chance or change O let not man complain, Elfe shall he never never ceafe to wail: For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain Rears the lone cottage in the filent dale. All th' affault of fortune's fickle gale ;

Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd; Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale, And gulfs the mountain's mighty mafs entomb'd, And where th' Atlantick rolls wide continents have bloom'd.*

See PLATO's Timeus.

II.

But fure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor fearch the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas, we daily trace.
Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine :

But fpare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or fympathy divine,

Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine.

III.

aye

So I, obfequious to Truth's dread command, Shall here without reluctance change my lay, And fmite the Gothic lyre with har her hand; Now when I leave that flowery path for Of childhood, where I fported many a-day, Warbling and fauntering carelefly along; Where every face was innocent and gay, Each vale romantick, tuneful every tongue, Sweet, wild, and artlefs all, as Edwin's infant fong.

IV.

Perish the lore that deadens young defire' Is the foft tenor of my fong no more.

Edwin, though loved of Heaven, must not aspire. To blifs, which mortals never new before. On trembling wings let youthful fancy foar, Nor always haunt the funny realms of joy; But now and then the shades of life explore; Though many a found and fight of woe annoy. And many a 'qualm of care his rifing hopes deftroy.

V.

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly bloffom, warm in fummer bower,
Some tints of tranfient beauty may difclofe
But ah it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks: Superior to the power
Of all the warring winds of heaven they rife,

And from the ftormy promontory tower, And tofs their giant arms amid the fkies, While each affailing blaft encrease of strength supplies.

VI.

And now the downy cheek and deepen'd voice
Gave dignity to Edwins blooming prime;
And walks of wider circuit was his choic,
And vales more wide, and mountains more fublime.
One evening as he framed the careless rhyme,
It was his chance to wander far abroad,
And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,

Which heretofore his foot had never trode ;
A vale appeared below, a deep retir'd abode.

VII.

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene; For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic fpell, Here fcorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green, Fenced from the north and eaft this favage dell; Southward a mountain rofe with eafy fwell, Whofe long long groves eternal murmur made; And towards the western fun a ftreamlet fell, Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, furvey'd Blue hills, and glittering waves, and fkies in gold array'd.

VIII.

Along this narrow valley you might fee

The wild deer fporting on the meadow ground,
And here and there, a folitary tree,

Or moffy ftone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.
Oft did the cliffs reveberate the found
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
And from the fummit of that craggy mound
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,
Or on refounding wings to fhoot athwart the fky.

IX.

One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flowery bofom to the noonday beam,