Too great for earth, he wish'd to claim

The honours of a heav'nly name;

And fervile Flatt'ry bow'd the knee
To hail the pageant Deity;

But foon, by thee compell'd, the youth
Unwilling own'd the force of truth.

So few the hours, alas! that fate

* Alexander, when faluted a god by his parafites, confeffed himself mortal, mentioning feveral things which convinced him of his mor◄ tality, particularly fleep, which he faid was the image of death.

Vide Plutarch in Alexand.

Of timid man the gentle friend,

Thou bid'ft us by degrees prepare

A more lafting fleep to bear,

And now anticipate our end.

When monarch Reafon, lull'd to reft,

Lets fall the fceptre of the breast;

At thy command, unbounded queen,

Fancy ufurps her mimic reign.

She ridicules in wanton play

The arduous trifles of the day,

Laughs at vain man's delusive schemes,

And points him to his waking dreams.
Thus, while his aid our bodies find,
Sleep brings inftruction for the mind.

Let man inftruction's voice obey,

And well improve his fleeting day,

Then fleep, and wake to immortality.

SPRING.

Or brood o'er Scythia's icy-fetter'd wave :

For, Winter, thee of yore

[fcene,

Night, haggard beldame, to the Northwind bore,

To rule his bleak domain,

When youthful Jove began his iron reign.

But come, thou nymph of dewy eye,

Which foftly beams with vivid joy,

Whose locks in primrose wreaths are twin'd,

Or loosely woo the western wind;

Thou, who doft tread the spangled mead,
In drefs of Nature's woof array'd,
Such as in fhow'ry cloud we view,
Thaumantia's robe of mingled hue:

Come,

Come, and thy landscapes all disclose,

While yet the morn but faintly glows,
While yet she spreads her modeft veil
Of fhadowy mifts o'er hill and dale.
And lo, where many an antic round
Quaintly marks the verdant ground!
For there the fairy elves have trod,
Dancing o'er the hallow'd fod;

Their nightly orgies there they keep,

And through the day in flow'rets fleep.
'The little infect-fons of Spring

In duteous hum their requiem fing,
As o'er the bloomy field they ftray,

Bearing the yellow spoil away.

From ev'ry grove and ev'ry tree

Burft the wild notes of harmony.

Thy prefence, genial nymph, infpires

The mufic of the woodland choirs.

In Fancy's architecture skill'd,

The little warblers featly build

In many a fhade the moffy nest,
There from their airy flights to rest.

Oh! may no truant-lad espy,

And feize the prey with cruel joy.

But fearless of his thievish aims,

Her neft of clay the swallow frames,
In which, to cottage-rafter hung,

She fondly feeds her twitt'ring young.
Now the glad hind renews his toil,
And cheerly turns the yielding foil,
Who trufts to see the hidden grain

With golden harvests clothe the plain.

Lo!