quainted, and from which they cannot escape uncensured. But it is time that I put an end to my remarks, lest I should be numbered among those false friends who injure the cause which they seem to defend, by dilating what had been more seasonably compressed, and by endeavouring to give dignity to trifles. PROLOGUE. THOU little wreath, by Fancy twin'd In Summer's suns and Winter's wind, That thro' an age of deepest gloom Hast kept thy fragrance and thy bloom, 'Tho' now whole centuries have roll'd, And nations, since thy birth, grown old, Tho' time have wither'd many a leaf, And silent Envy play'd the thief, And clowns have breath'd in evil hour A poison into thy sweet flow'r,- The sweetest buds that deck'd the land Who curl'd Anacreon's blushing vine Around Erinne's eglantine, And Myro's lilies cull'd, to shade The roses of the Lesbian Maid, And pluck'd the myrtle from thy grove, Be mine to wreathe, these sweets among (Menander, prince of comic song), Some honours spar'd by age and clime, Pluck'd from thy many garlands bright, So charming once and new to sight. Our unavailing sorrows mourn Thy roses pale, thy lilies torn, Thy garden rifled of its bloom, Thy Spring's rich wardrobe now is scant, And now some sad and wint'ry plant, (Of all that grac'd thy garden fine), (Where buds of heavenly fragrance grew) |