LVI. Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn! He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn. The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twinè; Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine. LVII. For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd; The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand, For this of time and culture is the fruit; LVIII. Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new, LIX. Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land, And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow*. Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. About the time the sun enters Cancer, their fields, which a week before were covered with snow, appear on a sudden full of grass and flowers. Scheffer's History of Lapland, p. 16. LX. Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while. New strains erelong shall animate thy frame. I only wish to please the gentle mind, Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of humankind. Ꭰ |