Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.