To Robert Southey

SOUTHEY! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear
Like far-off joyance, or the murmuring
Of wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring--
Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer

The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear:
Wak'd by the Song doth Hope-born FANCY fling
Rich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing,
Till sickly PASSION'S drooping Myrtles sear

Blossom anew! But O! more thrill'd, I prize
Thy sadder strains, that bid in MEMORY'S Dream
The faded forms of past Delight arise;
Then soft, on Love's pale cheek, the tearful gleam

Of Pleasure smiles--as faint yet beauteous lies
The imag'd Rainbow on a willowy stream.