THESE are the features of the ferrying Fair ,
And those that doat on Discord may go there,
The tides, contending with the toiling boats,
The horny forest, that on Menai floats,
The brutes inferior, but in human form,
The echoes, wearied with the wordy storm,
The living beach, where bellowing droves depart,
And the last low , that rends the suffering heart.
Laugh, if ye will, ye breasts that cannot feel,
At those, whose different bosoms, are not steel;
At those, who, when a groan on Zephyr rolls,
Still find it echoed in their inmost souls!

Fly to the mountain tops, ye tuneful Nine.
These are not scenes for you — such minds as mine.