On A Visit To Mr. Burns Poem by Janet Little

IS't true? or does some magic spell
My wond'ring eyes beguile ?
Is this the place where deigns to dwell
The honour of our isle?
The charming BURNS, the Muse's care,
Of all her sons the pride;
This pleasure oft I've sought to share,
But been as oft deni'd.
Oft have my thoughts, at midnight hour,
To him excursions made;
This bliss in dreams was premature,
And with my slumbers fled.
'Tis real now, no vision here
Bequeaths a poignant dart;
I'll view the poet ever dear,
Whose lays have charm'd my heart
Hark! now he comes, a dire alarm
Re-echoes through his hall!
Pegasus kneel'd, his rider's arm
Was broken by a fall.
The doleful tidings to my ears
Were in harsh notes convey'd;
His lovely wife stood drown'd in tears,
While thus I pond'ring said:
'No cheering draught, with ills unmix'd,
Can mortals taste below;
All human fate by heav'n is fix'd,
Alternate joy and wo.'
With beating breast I view'd the bard;
All trembling did him greet:
With sighs bewail'd his fate so hard,
Whose notes were ever sweet.