And wit and beauty mingled in his song.
Tho’ Nepthe blaz’d, her brows with myrtle twin’d,
Not all her loveliness could shake his constant mind.
In the meridian of his quiet day,
When gentle Reason had matur’d his youth;
The relatives of Onus bless that lay
He gave to you, and gave it with his truth.
Pure were his morals as the Patriarchs thought,
And heaven approv’d the dogma Fancy taught.
Ah me, that breast which glow’d with patriot fire,