Blest as the immortal Gods is he, The youth who fondly sits by thee, And hears and sees thee, all the while, Softly speak and sweetly smile. It is thus rendered by Mason: The youth that gazes on thy charms, Rivals in bliss the Gods on high, Whose ear thy pleasing converse warms, Thy lovely smile his eye. But trembling awe my bosom heaves, When placed those heavenly charms among; The sight my voice of power bereaves, And chains my torpid tongue. Through every thrilling fibre flies The subtle flame; in dimness drear My eyes are veil'd; a murmuring noise Glides tinkling through my ear; Death's chilly dew my limbs o'erspreads, Shiv'ring, convuls'd, I panting lye; And pale, as is the flower that fades, I droop, I faint, I die. The rudest language, in which there was anything of natural feeling, would be preferable to this cold splendour. In the other ode, he comes into contrast with Akenside. But lo! to Sappho's melting airs Descends the radiant queen of love; She smiles, and asks what fonder cares Her suppliant's plaintive measures move. Why is my faithful maid distrest? Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast? Say, flies he? soon he shall pursue: Shuns he thy gifts? he soon shall give: Slights he thy sorrows? he shall grieve, And soon to all thy wishes bow. _Akenside_, b. 1, Ode 13. This, though not unexceptionable, and particularly in the last verse, has yet a tenderness and spirit utterly wanting in Mason. What from my power would Sappho claim? Who scorns thy flame? What wayward boy Disdains to yield thee joy for joy? Soon shall he court the bliss he flies; Soon beg the boon he now denies, And, hastening back to love and thee, Repay the wrong with extacy. In the Pygmalion, a lyrical scene, he has made an effort equally vain, to represent the impassioned eloquence of Jean Jaques Rousseau. In his shorter poems, there is too frequent a recurrence of the same machinery, and that, such as it needed but little invention to create. Either the poet himself, or some other person, is introduced, musing by a stream or lake, or in a forest, when the appearance of some celestial visitant, muse, spirit, or angel, suddenly awakens his attention. Soft gleams of lustre tremble through the grove, And sacred airs of minstrelsy divine Are harp'd around, and flutt'ring pinions move. Ah, hark! a voice, to which the vocal rill, The lark's extatic harmony is rude; Distant it swells with many a holy trill, Now breaks wide warbling from yon orient cloud. _Elegy_ 2. And, But hark! methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue! In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide; Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free, As swells the lark's meridian extacy. _Ode_ vi. After the extatic notes have been heard, all vanishes away like some figure in the clouds, which