BIRTH-DAY
.
Come
,
my
Muse
,
prepare
the
lay
,
Once
more
hail
this
happy
Day
.
Bid
it
shine
o'er
all
the
past
;
Brightest
,
since
it
is
the
last
.
For
her
full
meridian
ray
,
Soon
must
sicken
,
and
decay
:
See
!
she
hastens
down
the
skies
,
In
another
sphere
to
rise
;
In
a
world
unknown
,
untry'd
,
Sets
a
Maid
,
to
rise
a
Bride
.
So
the
sun
,
with
splendid
ray
,
Having
shone
his
summer's
day
,
Gilding
all
the
groves
and
plains
,
Drops
at
length
the
golden
reins
,
And
night's
curtain
round
him
spread
,
Hides
his
beams
in
Thetis
'
bed
.