"Or perish this weak lyre :" he said no more,

But tun'd to harmony beyond her pow'r ;

Now loud, now fhrill, now rais'd to loftier notes;

On Zephyr's wing the trembling music floats.

Again the crouding ftrings the artist plies,

The vary'd numbers echo through the skies.

He ftops, expectant of his rival's song;

She, though her voice now roughens on her tongue,

To own his pow'r fuperior ftill difdains;

Yet ah! in vain fhe tunes her sweeteft ftrains;

For whilft her little, fimple voice eflays

The labour'd mazes of his artful lays,

Too great

th' attempt, too great her forrows rife,

Upon the victor's lyre fhe falls, and dies.

SLEEP.

SLE E P.

Pater o rerum, portus vitæ,
Lucis requies, noctifque comes,
Qui par regi, famuloque venis,
Placidus feffum lenifque fovens;
Pavidum lethi genus humanum,

Cogis longam difcere mortem.

SENECE HERCULES FURENS.

H

I.

'AIL, mystic Sleep! like Death array'd,

Whether his brother or his fhade,

Potent, like him, to footh to rest

The pangs and tumults of the fuff'ring breaft.

Great monarch of the fhadowy choir,

Whofe nod ten thousand forms attend,

While each, thy fervant, and thy friend,

Officious pays his quick devoir :

Thee, form fubftantial may we name?

Or vapour from the Stygian stream,

Doft

Fancy! gay fylphid, fprightly queen,

Enliv'ner of the murky scene:

And dreams, and visions, round her play,

In painted garbs, and veitments gay,

Or ftalk tremendous, through the airy way.

II.

'Tis thine, O Sleep! fo poets tell,

In drear Cimmerian haunt to dwell,

Where, wrapt in clouds, the mountains brow

Sheds dufky horrors o'er the vale below.

Far

Far from the Sun's all chearing ray,

Befide a fullen river's wave,

Gapes the dull entrance of thy cave,

Midft hov'ring mifts, and twilight grey:

No feather'd fongfter, there upborne,

With wakeful voice falutes the morn,

But all is folemn, filent, ftill,

Save where the hollow murm'ring rill,

Low creeping through the depths of night,

Doth flumbers more profound excite:

The poppy there delights to fpread,

And nodding, lifts its languid head,

With herbs of baneful note, that breathe

Soporous juices, draughts of death:

While thousand fleeting fhadows rife,

Whofe mystic forms illude our eyes,

Impervious phalanx, dark'ning all the fkies.

III.

And often in the sylvan shade,

Where dimly beams the darkling glade,

Underneath fome filent bow'r,

Thou lov'ft dull Sleep, to lofe the liftless hour.

There thy imps befide thee nod:

Or skimming low in mazy rings,

Slowly flap their leathern wings,
In lazy circlets round their God.
Then, flying from the face of day,
Should Melancholy thither stray,

In the low gloom, the echoing vale
Hears her tell her plaintive tale;

And trees that quiver, ftreams that flow

With mournful murmurs, footh her woe.

Thee the fad maid invokes, to shed

Oblivious dews around her head,

And