Y. 1801. PELION and Ossa flourish side by side, While not an English Mountain we behold Yet round our sca-girt shore they rise in crowds: And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly. VI. THERE is a little unpretending Rill Of private recollection sweet and still! Months perish with their moons; year treads on 'year; VII. HER only pilot the soft breeze, the boat With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side, All that to each is precious, as we float If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide, From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse, While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues THE fairest, brightest hues of ether fade ; The sweetest notes must terminate and die; (Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony Softly resounded through this rocky glade ; Such strains of rapture as * the Genius played In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high'; He who stood visible to Mirzah's eye, Never before to human sight betrayed. Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread ! The visionary Arches are not there, Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas; Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head, Whence I have risen, uplifted on the breeze Of harmony, above all earthly care. See the Vision of Mirzah in the Spectator. IX. UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE, Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart, PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; For ever anchored in her sheltering bay. Soul-soothing Art! whom Morning, Noon-tide, Even, |