The favourite tree of Beauty's Queen,

Behold the Myrtle's modest green,

The Virgin of the grove!

Soft from the circlet of her star,

The tender turtles draw the car

Of Venus and of Love.

The growing charm invites the eye,

See morning gradual paint the sky

With purple and with gold!

Sec Spring approach with sweet delay!

See rosebuds open to the ray,

And leaf by leaf unfold!

We love th' alluring line of grace,

That leads the eye a wanton chace,

And lets the fancy rove;

The walk of Beauty ever bends,

And still begins, but never ends,

The labyrinth of love.

At F

At times, to veil, is to reveal,
And to difplay, is to conceal;
Mysterious are your laws!

The vision's finer than the view;

Her landscape Nature never drew

So fair as Fancy draws.

A beauty, carelessly betray'd,
Enamours more, than if display'd
All Woman's charms were given;
And, o'er the bosom's vestal white,
The gauze appears a robe of light,
That veils, yet opens, Heaven.

See Virgin Eve, with graces bland,

Fresh blooming from her Maker's hand,

In orient beauty beam!

Fair on the river-margin laid,

She knew not that her image made

The angel in the stream.

Still ancient Eden blooms your own;

But artless Innocence alone

Secures the heavenly post;

For if, beneath an Angel's mien, The Serpent's tortuous train is feen, Our Paradise is lost.

O Nature, Nature, thine the charm!

Thy colours woo, thy features warm,
Thy accents win the heart!
Parisian paint of every kind,
That stains the body or the mind,
Proclaims the Harlot's art.

The midnight Minstrel of the grove,

Who still renews the hymn of love,

And woos the wood to hear;

1

Knows not the sweetness of his strain,

Nor that, above the tuneful train,

He charms the Lover's ear.

The Zone of Venus, heavenly-fine,
Is Nature's handy-work divine,

And not the web of Art;

And they who wear it never know
To what enchanting charm they owe
The empire of the heart.

R

Ca

OSSIAN's HYMN

TO THE SUN.

THOU whose beams the fea-girt earth array,
King of the Sky, and Father of the Day!

O Sun! what fountain, hid from human eyes,
Supplies thy circle round the radiant skies,
For ever burning and for ever bright,
With Heaven's pure fire, and everlasting light?
What awful beauty in thy face appears!
Immortal youth, beyond the power of years!

When gloomy Darkness to thy reign resigns, And from the gates of Morn thy glory shines, The confcious stars are put to fudden flight, And all the planets hide their heads in night;

The