TO THE MUSE[9:1]

Tho' no bold flights to thee belong; And tho' thy lays with conscious fear, Shrink from Judgement's eye severe, Yet much I thank thee, Spirit of my song! For, lovely Muse! thy sweet employ 5 Exalts my soul, refines my breast, Gives each pure pleasure keener zest, And softens sorrow into pensive Joy. From thee I learn'd the wish to bless, From thee to commune with my heart; 10 [10]From thee, dear Muse! the gayer part, To laugh with pity at the crowds that press Where Fashion flaunts her robes by Folly spun, Whose hues gay-varying wanton in the sun.