XXXIX.

"But ah! th' historic Muse has never dar'd To pierce those hallow'd bowers: 'tis Fancy's beam Pour'd on the vision of th' enraptur'd bard, That paints the charms of that delicious theme. Then hail sweet Fancy's ray! and hail the dream That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe! Careless what others of my choice may deem, I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to go And meditate on Heaven; enough of Earth I know."