A GAIN my Spirit wakes from deep repose,
Tho' deep, not joyless; and each fairer dream,
That Fancy on the pregnant trance bestows,
Bids o'er the page in lasting beauty stream;
But ah! no dazzling glories shalt Thou find,
Such as illume thy own consummate lay;
No Miracles of the effulgent Mind,
To guide Thee thro' Invention's milky-way;
A Shepherd's simple song:—of ardent Youth,
A rude narration, and of Love sincere,
Which Nature's mighty self, and virgin Truth,
Instill'd, erewhile, into his raptur'd ear,
Nor, only, shall it charm the village train,
If Thou wilt deign to list so low a strain.