Go-you may call it madness, folly; You shall not chase my gloom away. There's such a charm in melancholy, I would not, if I could, be gay. Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh, You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy. TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO. AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, (Thy giant limbs to night and chaos hurled) Still sit as on the fragment of a world; Surviving all, majestic and alone? What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept * In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II., it was long the favourite study of those great men to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. + Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus. Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III, 200. MINE be a cot beside the hill ; The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivy'd porch shall spring The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. WHEN by the green-wood side, at summer eve, And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave, |