"Our generation moulds our state, Its virtues, vices, fix our fate; Nor otherwise experience proves, The unseen hands make all the moves, If some are great, and some are small, Some climb to good, some from good fortune fall,-- Not figures these of speech,--forefathers sway us all. Me from the womb the midnight muse did take, She clothed me, nourished, and mine head With her own hands she fashioned; She did a cov'nant with me make, And circumcised my tender soul, and thus she spake: 'Thou of my church shalt be, Hate and renounce (said she) Wealth, honour, pleasure, all the world for me. Thou neither great at court, nor in the war, Nor at th' exchange shalt be, nor at the wrangling bar, Content thyself with the small barren praise, That neglected verse does raise.' She spake, and all my years to come Took their determined doom: Their several ways of life, let others choose, Their several pleasures let them use, But I was born for love and for a muse. With fate what boots it to contend? Such I began, such am, and so shall end: The star that did my being frame Was but a lambent flame; Some light indeed it did dispense, But less of heat and influence. No matter, poet, let proud fortune see That thou canst her despise no less than she does thee; Why grieve thyself or blush to be As all the inspired tuneful seers, And all thy great forefathers were from Shakspeare to thy peers." Yet, biassed by temperament as we may be, whether for good or for evil, such measure of freedom is ours, nevertheless, as enables us to free ourselves from its tendencies and temptations. In the breast of each is a liberating angel, at whose touch, when we will it persistently, the doors of our dungeon fly open and loose their prisoner. IV. METAMORPHOSES. "Generation is not a creation of life, but a production of things to sense, and making them manifest. Neither is change death, but a hiding of that which was."--HERMES TRISMEGISTUS. [Illustration: Decorative banner of two birds among leaves and flowers] METAMORPHOSES. I.--SLEEP.