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THE ORIGIN OF SONG-WRITING.
"Receive him, artless yet and young;
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue:
Conduct him through your favourite bowers,
Enriched with fair perennial flowers,
To solemn shades and springs that lie
Remote from each unhallowed eye;
Teach him to spell those mystic names
That kindle bright immortal flames;
And guide his young unpractised feet
To reach coy Learning's lofty seat."
Ah, luckless hour ! mistaken maids,
When Cupid sought the Muse's shades!
Of their sweetest notes beguiled,
By the sly insidious child;
Now of power his darts are found
Twice ten thousand times to wound.
Now no more the slackened strings
Breathe of high immortal things,
