Iv

Thither, while the murmuring throng Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, By Indolence and Fancy brought, A youthful Bard, 'unknown to Fame,' Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh Gazing with tearful eye, As round our sandy grot appear Many a rudely-sculptur'd name To pensive Memory dear! Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur'd hue, We glance before his view: O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed And twine the future garland round his head.