THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR. LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

Lead to the bliss she promises the wise,

Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skies?

Ye devotees to your adored employ,

Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy,

Love makes the music of the blest above,

Heaven's harmony is universal love;

And earthly sounds, though sweet and well com

bined,

And lenient as soft opiates to the mind,

Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind.

Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain;

'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs,
Save that his scent is less acute than their's;
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps,
True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps.
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean;
The joy the danger and the toil overpays—

"Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.

The Babylonian tyrant with a nod

Had summoned them to serve his golden god.

So well that thought the employment seems to suit, Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute.

Oh fie! 'tis evangelical and pure:

Observe each face, how sober and demure!

Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien;

Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen.
Still I insist, though music heretofore

Has charmed me much, (not even Occiduus more)
Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet
For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet.

Will not the sickliest sheep of

Resort to this example as a rock;

every flock

There stand, and justify the foul abuse
Of sabbath hours with plausible excuse;
If apostolic gravity be free

To play the fool on Sundays, why not we?
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards

As inoffensive, what offence in cards?