HYMN XXI.
Of the innumerable Virtues of her Mind.
E re thou proceed in these sweet pains,
L earn Muse! how many drops it rains
I n cold and moist December!
S um up May flowers! and August's grains!
A nd grapes of mild September!
B ear the sea's sand in Memory!
E arth's grasses! and the stars in sky!
T he little moats, which mounted