The man rose staring, like a stake;
Wondering to see himself awake!
Then look'd so wise, before he knew
The business he was made to do,
That, pleased to see with what a grace
He gravely showed his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An under-something of the sky.

But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever biuds a poet's god
(For which his curls ambrosial shake,
And mother Earth 's obliged to quake),
He saw old mother Earth arise-
She stood confess'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A castle for a crown before,

Nor with long streets and longer roads
Dangling behind her, like commodes :
As yet with wreaths alone she dress'd!
And trail'd a landscape-painted vest.
Then thrice she raised, as Ovid said,
And thrice she bow'd, her weighty head.
Her honours made, Great Jove!' she cried,
"This thing was fashion'd from my side;
His hands, his heart, his head are mine :
Then what hast thou to call him thine?'
Nay, rather ask,' the monarch said,

، What boots his hand, his heart, his head, Were what I gave removed away?

Thy part's an idle shape of clay.'

6

Halves, more than halves!' cried honest Care, ، Your pleas would make your titles fair ;

You claim the body, you the soul,

But I, who join'd them, claim the whole.'

Thus with the gods debate began On such a trivial cause as man. And can celestial tempers rage? Quoth Virgil in a later age.

As thus they wrangled, Time came by; (There's none that paint him such as I, For what the fabling ancients sung Makes Saturn old when Time was young.) As yet his winters had not shed Their silver honours on his head; He just had got his pinions free From his old sire Eternity. A serpent girdled round he wore, The tail within the mouth, before; By which our almanacs are clear That learned Egypt meant the year. A staff he carried, where on high A glass was fix'd to measure by, As amber boxes made a show For heads of canes an age ago. His vest, for day and night, was pied; A bending sickle arm'd his side;

And Spring's new months his train adorn!
The other Seasons were unborn.

Known by the gods, as near he draws,
They make him umpire of the cause.
O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,
Where since his hours a dial made;

Then leaning heard the nice debate,
And thus pronounced the words of Fate :-
'Since body from the parent Earth,
And soul from Jove received a birth,
Return they where they first began;
But, since their union makes the man,

D

Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care, who join'd them, man is due.'

He said, and sprung with swift career To trace a circle for the year,

Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel.

"Tis well,' said Jove; and for consent Thundering he shook the firmament. 'Our umpire Time shall have his way; With Care I let the creature stay: Let business vex him, avarice blind, Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, Let error act, opinion speak,

And want afflict, and sickness break,
And anger burn, dejection chill,
And joy distract, and sorrow kill,
Till arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
Time draws the long destructive blow;
And wasted man, whose quick decay
Comes hurrying on before his day,
Shall only find by this decree
The soul flies sooner back to me.'

A FAIRY TALE.

IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

IN Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
When midnight fairies danced the maze,
Lived Edwin of the Green;

Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Though badly shaped he been.

His mountain back mote well be said
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above;

Yet spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dared to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,
Could ladies look within;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,
He had a shape to win.

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted passion paced along
All in the moony light;

'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort
To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd; 'Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost That reach'd the neighbour-town : With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,

And, trembling, rocks the ground:
And, well I ween to count aright,
At once a hundred tapers light
On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
Now sounding feet approachen near,
And now the sounds increase:
And from the corner where he lay
He sees a train profusely gay

Come prankling o'er the place.

But (trust me, gentles!) never yet
Was dight a masking half so neat,
Or half so rich before:

The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,
The town its silken store.

Now, whilst he gazed, a gallaut dress'd
In flaunting robes above the rest,
With awful accent cried,

'What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,

Has here presumed to hide ?'