sinfully Disgraced his form divine, And in his vile humanity Has wallowed like the swine. The face of earth each vainly treads, Like gourds, that boys in sport Have hollowed out to human heads, With skulls, whose brains are—naught. Like wine that by a chemist's art Is through retorts refined, Their spirits to the deuce depart, The phlegma's left behind. From every woman's face they fly, Its very aspect dread,—    And if they dared—and could not—why,     'Twere better they were dead. They shun all worthies when they can, Grief at their joy they prove—    The man who cannot make a man, A man can never love! The world I proudly wander o'er, And plume myself and sing I am a man!—Whoe'er is more? Then leap on high, and spring! 

           THE MESSIAD. Religion 'twas produced this poem's fire; Perverted also?—prithee, don't inquire! 

        THOUGHTS ON THE 1ST OCTOBER, 1781. What mean the joyous sounds from yonder vine-clad height? What the exulting Evoe? 63 Why glows the cheek? Whom is't that I, with pinions light, Swinging the lofty Thyrsus see? Is it the genius whom the gladsome throng obeys? Do I his numerous train descry? In plenty's teeming horn the gifts of heaven he sways,     And reels from very ecstacy!—     See how the golden grape in glorious beauty shines, Kissed by the earliest morning-beams! The shadow of yon bower, how lovingly it signs, As it with countless blessings teams! Ha! glad October, thou art welcome unto me!—     October's first-born, welcome thou! Thanks of a purer kind, than all who worship thee, More heartfelt thanks I'm bringing now! For thou to me the one whom I have loved so well, And love with fondness to the grave, Who merits in my heart forevermore to dwell,—     The best of friends in Rieger 64 gave.     'Tis true thy breath doth rock the leaves upon the trees, And sadly make their charms decay;    Gently they fall:—and swift, as morning phantasies With those who waken, fly away.     'Tis true that on thy track the fleecy spoiler hastes, Who makes all Nature's chords resound With discord dull, and turns the plains and groves to wastes, So that they sadly mourn around. See how the gloomy forms of years, as on they roll, Each joyous banquet overthrows, When, in uplifted hand, from out the foaming bowl, Joy's noble purple brightly flows! See how they disappear, when friends sweet converse hold, And loving wander arm-in-arm; And, to revenge themselves on winter's north wind cold, Upon each other's breasts grow warm! And when spring's 

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