'Tis true stern Reason scorns thy sway,
Nor basks beneath thy sunny ray;
Nor hears thy accents clear and sweet,
Where sprightly airs and softness meet,
Mixing with harmonic chords,
Pouring melody on words.
Nor will his fix'd eye deign to glance
On the mirthful mazy dance,
When the Hours, all hand in hand,
Link with thee, a jocund band;
When thy white robes float on air,
Catching rays that tremble there,
Tinted with the varying beam,
Ending in prismatic stream.