After Anacreon. [The Strong Resemblance Of This Fine Poem To Cowley'S Ode Bearing The Same Name, And Beginning "Happy Insect! What Can Be," Will Be At Once Seen.] Happy Art Thou, Darling Insect, Who, Upon The Trees' Tall Branches, By A Modest Draught Inspired, Singing, Like A Monarch Livest! Thou Possessest As Thy Portion All That On The Plains Thou Seest, All That By The Hours Is Brought Thee 'Mongst The Husbandmen Thou Livest, As A Friend, Uninjured By Them, Thou Whom Mortals Love To Honour, Herald Sweet Of Sweet Spring'S Advent! Yes, Thou'Rt Loved By All The Muses, Phoebus' Self, Too, Needs Must Love Thee; They Their Silver Voices Gave Thee, Age Can Never Steal Upon Thee. Wise And Gentle Friend Of Poets, Born A Creature Fleshless, Bloodless, Though Earth'S Daughter, Free From Suff'Ring, To The Gods E'En Almost Equal.