the calm hour, when pleasure most prevails,
And smooth prosperity has swell'd your sails,
The sportive Muse her humble lyre has strung,
To join the triumph with some idle song:
And shall she now, when nature smiles no more,
When tempests rise, and surges lash the shore,
Sit doubtful, and the serious lay refuse?
Shall  sigh, nor sympathize the Muse?