Southey! thy melodies steal o'er mine ear
       &nbspLike far-off joyance, or the murmuring
       &nbspOf wild bees in the sunny showers of Spring—
Sounds of such mingled import as may cheer

The lonely breast, yet rouse a mindful tear:
       &nbspWak'd by the Song doth Hope-born Fancy fling
       &nbspRich showers of dewy fragrance from her wing,
Till sickly Passion's drooping Myrtles sear

Blossom anew! But O! more thrill'd, I prize
       &nbspThy sadder strains, that bid in Memory's Dream
       &nbspThe 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.