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1
LYRIC PIECES.
ODE;
SUNG BY THE GREEK GIRL IN THEOCRITUS; IDYLL. XV.
Sweet smiling Arbitress of Love,
Queen of the soft Idalian grove;
Whom Golgos and the Erycian height,
And thy fair fanes of gold delight—
How lov'd the down-shod Hours have led
Thy own Adonis from the dead,
To all thy ardent wishes dear;
Restor'd—to bless the closing year!
Still, tho' they move on lagging wing,
The Hours some balmy blessing bring!
Queen of the soft Idalian grove;
Whom Golgos and the Erycian height,
And thy fair fanes of gold delight—
How lov'd the down-shod Hours have led
Thy own Adonis from the dead,
To all thy ardent wishes dear;
Restor'd—to bless the closing year!
Still, tho' they move on lagging wing,
The Hours some balmy blessing bring!
Hail, daughter of Dione, hail,
Whose power from dark Avernus' vale
Caught Berenice to the blest,
And with ambrosia fill'd her breast!
For thee, bright Goddess of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
The child of Berenice comes,
Arsinoe; (Helen-like she blooms)
With nature's luxuries to adorn
Thy lov'd Adonis' festal morn!
Lo! fruits, whate'er creation yields,
Lo! the ripe produce of the fields
And gardens, mingling many a dye,
In silver baskets round him lie!
See, richly cas'd in glowing gold,
Yon' box of alabaster hold
The sweets of Syrian groves; and stor'd
With honey'd cakes, the luscious board!
Observe, whatever skims the air,
Or lives on earth, assembled there!
And green shades, arch'd with anise, rise,
Where many a little Cupid flies,
Like the young nightingales that love,
New-fledg'd, to flutter thro' the grove—
Now perching, now with short essay
Borne on weak wing from spray to spray!
Of gold—of ebon what a store!
And see two ivory eagles soar
Severing the dark cloud where, above,
They bear young Ganymede to Jove!
Whose power from dark Avernus' vale
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And with ambrosia fill'd her breast!
For thee, bright Goddess of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
The child of Berenice comes,
Arsinoe; (Helen-like she blooms)
With nature's luxuries to adorn
Thy lov'd Adonis' festal morn!
Lo! fruits, whate'er creation yields,
Lo! the ripe produce of the fields
And gardens, mingling many a dye,
In silver baskets round him lie!
See, richly cas'd in glowing gold,
Yon' box of alabaster hold
The sweets of Syrian groves; and stor'd
With honey'd cakes, the luscious board!
Observe, whatever skims the air,
Or lives on earth, assembled there!
And green shades, arch'd with anise, rise,
Where many a little Cupid flies,
Like the young nightingales that love,
New-fledg'd, to flutter thro' the grove—
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Borne on weak wing from spray to spray!
Of gold—of ebon what a store!
And see two ivory eagles soar
Severing the dark cloud where, above,
They bear young Ganymede to Jove!
Behold that tapestry diffuse
The richness of the Tyrian hues!
Ev'n they who tend Milesian sheep
Would own, 'tis softer far than sleep!
The richness of the Tyrian hues!
Ev'n they who tend Milesian sheep
Would own, 'tis softer far than sleep!
Amid this bed's relieving shade,
Mark rosy-arm'd Adonis laid!
And from that couch survey the bride
Bend o'er his cheek with blushes dy'd,
His chin's soft down; as fond to sip
New rapture from the ruby lip!
Now let her joy—But ere the morn
Shall dry the dews that gem the thorn,
His image to the shore we'll bear,
With robes unzon'd, and flowing hair—
With bosoms open'd to the day;
And warble thus the choral lay:
Mark rosy-arm'd Adonis laid!
And from that couch survey the bride
Bend o'er his cheek with blushes dy'd,
His chin's soft down; as fond to sip
New rapture from the ruby lip!
Now let her joy—But ere the morn
Shall dry the dews that gem the thorn,
His image to the shore we'll bear,
With robes unzon'd, and flowing hair—
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And warble thus the choral lay:
‘Thou—thou alone, dear youth, 'tis said,
‘Canst leave the mansions of the dead;
‘And, passing oft the dreary bourne,
‘Duly to earth's green seats return!
‘Such favour not the Atridæ knew,
‘Nor who the fleecy flocks o'erthrew!
‘Nor Hector, his fond mother's joy;
‘Nor Pyrrhus, proud of plunder'd Troy!
‘Nor ev'n Patroclus great and good;
‘Nor they who boast Deucalion's blood;
‘Nor Pelops' sons; nor, first in fame,
‘The high Pelasgians blazon'd name.’
‘Canst leave the mansions of the dead;
‘And, passing oft the dreary bourne,
‘Duly to earth's green seats return!
‘Such favour not the Atridæ knew,
‘Nor who the fleecy flocks o'erthrew!
‘Nor Hector, his fond mother's joy;
‘Nor Pyrrhus, proud of plunder'd Troy!
‘Nor ev'n Patroclus great and good;
‘Nor they who boast Deucalion's blood;
‘Nor Pelops' sons; nor, first in fame,
‘The high Pelasgians blazon'd name.’
Propitious, O Adonis, hear;
Thus bring delight each future year!
Kind to our vows Adonis prove,
And greet us with returning love!
Thus bring delight each future year!
Kind to our vows Adonis prove,
And greet us with returning love!
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ODE TO THE CICADA.
I.
Cicada lov'd, whose little limbs are spreadOn yonder soft luxuriant bed;
Who hopp'st the lawns along,
Chaunting an idle song:
Whether, amid full-blown flowers,
Blythe thou sipp'st refreshing showers—
Drunk with heaven's fragrant tears;
Or where green waters glide,
Thou lovest to reside
In the moist grass of shady plains;
Or modulating dulcet strains
Thy emulative throat
Outvies the shepherd's note,
Whilst all the village round thy accents hears.
II.
Or when the sun darts down its scorching rayTo vex the rustic's weary way;
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Thou gratest, shrieking shrill:
Or if the deities of heaven
Nectarian sweets to thee have giv'n
With ministerial rains;
And bounteously bestrew
Thy bed with pearly dew—
Assist my song; while skill'd in rhymes
Thy poet thro' all future times
To last, a temple rears;
And thro' the listening spheres
Still more and more thy fame immortal honour gains.
7
MONA.
I.
“Shroud, in the billowy mist's deep bosom shroud“My ravag'd isle!”—the voice was vain—
Mona! mark yon kindling cloud
That seems to fire the main;
As, flashing to the distant skies,
Broad the hostile flames arise
From the reverential wood;
Red its central gloom with blood!
Many a white-rob'd Druid hoar
Totters in the stream of gore;
Meets the faulchion's furious blow;
Sinking, execrates the foe;
Or, across the Cromlech's stone,
Pours his dark mysterious moan;
Or grasps his shrine, and hails the stroke,
Stabb'd beneath the holy oak;
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Hurries down the dimwood glade;
And uproots her bristling hair,
Paler amid the ghastly glare!
II.
But lo! the scenes of other days are fled!Yet mysterious horror fills
The long-scoop'd dales, where Druids bled,
And deepens the dark hills!
Thro' the tufted rock that wide
Opens its encavern'd side,
Ivied ruins gleaming gray,
Break the torrent's foamy way.
There the Enthusiast loves to dwell,
Low in the romantic dell;
Tracing temples, abbey walls,
Shiver'd arches, castle halls:
Whether the sun dart his light
Mid the branches, mossy white;
Or the star of eve, aslant,
Glimmer on the spectre-haunt;
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Add their store of mellow sound,
To the crash of tumbling heaps
That o'erbrow'd the craggy steeps;
To the murmurs of the cave,
Fretted by many a restless wave!
10
THE FAITHLESS COMALA.
Where wanders the breeze from the mist-cover'd vale,With the reeds of blue Lora to play;
To Comala young Connal would breathe the love-tale,
And with sighs her soft glances repay.
Her eyes with a beautiful azure were bright;
Like the plume of the raven, her hair:
And, loveliness beaming around her as light,
Like the snow her full bosom was fair.
His forehead with open sincerity glow'd:
His eye, as an eagle's, was keen:
His long yellow tresses with gracefulness flow'd;
And majesty shone in his mien.
But his clan was now rous'd by the tumult of arms,
And he tremblingly bade her adieu;
Tho' she swore that to him were devoted her charms,
That her heart should be never untrue.
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“If the love of my Connal I slight;
“May I ride on the wings of the tempest, and fly
“Till I plunge into fathomless night.”
Yet scarce had he rush'd to the battle of spears,
Ere Morlo the virgin address'd:
Her brow was o'erclouded awhile; and her tears,
Like the dew, trickled over her breast.
Alas! the career of his wonderful deeds
Each tongue was too prompt to proclaim:
Of his chariot of war, and his thunder-clad steeds
Too often re-echoed the fame.
Perfidious, the maiden was pleas'd with his vows,
And smil'd on his wishes to wed:
And Morlo appointed the day when a spouse
He should bear her in bliss to his bed.
That day was at hand. The pale shadows were still:
The moment of midnight was nigh;
When in terror she listen'd to wheels on the hill,
And the trampling of horses hard by—
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“Comala! my chariot ascend!
“'Tis Morlo invites—and thy Morlo obey:
“O'er the heath let us speedily bend.
“Lo! Connal with vengeance approaches—e'en now
“The clashing of armour I hear!
“He comes with his warriors; and, death on his brow,
“He brandishes wildly the spear.”
She sprung to the seat; while aloft on the pole,
And straight as an arrow he stood:
And the chariot roll'd hoarse, as the waterfalls roll,
When Winter descends in a flood.
Like a frost o'er the heath the cold moon-beams were spread:
The shaggy rocks glitter'd on high:
And the three mossy stones that gleam over the dead,
Caught, often, Comala! thine eye.
And now at the foot of a mountain they came:
The coursers paw wildly the ground,
Then wind up the steep, like two volumes of flame,
To their hoofs as the caverns resound.
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And, as echoed the dingles below,
Each oak in a pause of still horror appear'd,
And motionless, gaz'd the fleet roe.
On the top of the mountain scarce rattled the car,
When off like a meteor it flew:
And he said, as his steeds lightly gallop'd on air—
“Now, Connal, 'tis vain to pursue!”
“Ah whither, my Morlo! ah where are we borne?”
(With a cold shriek of horror she cry'd)
“Never fear! never fear! ere the glimpse of the morn
“I shall hail thee my high-bosom'd bride.”
Where they rush'd, the pale tower and the lake and the wood
Swam in dizzy confusion beneath;
Till the moon no more glimmer'd, descending in blood,
To the blast that sang shrill on the heath.
Wide over the foam of the ocean they flew,
As a gleam from the north would disclose
The waters that deep in a hollow withdrew,
Or, roaring in surges, arose.
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Like cromlechs on cromlechs up-pil'd:
At the sight, the steeds neigh'd, and then dreadfully rear'd,
And snorted, with extasy wild.
“Lo yonder (he shouted) my turrets arise;
“The castle stupendously swells:
“See lights thro' the windows illumine the skies—
“Far within is the feast of the shells.
“The bridemaids look out from the chambers: behold!
“They beckon, as swift we advance!
“And hark! the magnificent portals unfold:
“Full soon shall we waken the dance.”
“'Tis the House of the Thunder (she utter'd) O save—
“See—see—thro' the breaches they dart!
“O Morlo! look back!—and the lightnings I brave,
“If Comala yet live in thy heart.”
He look'd—It was Connal! “I fell, yester-morn,
“In the sight! But thy bed I prepare!”
Cried the Spectre, his eyes flashing vengeance and scorn;
Then vanish'd, at once, with his car!
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She dropp'd like an arrow of light:
And, whirl'd thro' the tempest, the treacherous bride
Was plung'd into fathomless night.
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HIGHLAND ODE.
I
Ere Arven vanish'd from my eyes,And left my widow'd soul to sighs,
How sweet, where summer breezes blow,
To trace the heath-flower's gradual glow,
Hail the grey linnet's song, or mark
Veil'd in a cloud, the mounting lark,
Or wander, where the lucid rill
Prattles beside the pine-crown'd hill,
Or, deep within the forest, start
Mid intertwisted boughs the hart,
Or wake, with my old hunting-horn,
The echoes of the merry morn,
Then seek the hall, where plenty dwells,
And share, at eve, the feast of shells!
II
But Arven's feet, with gentle print,Gave to the tender flower its tint:
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My Arven plum'd the soaring bird:
She bade the clear stream tinkling flow,
Or with pleas'd eye pursu'd the doe:
Her image only render'd dear
The wildwood chace, the festal cheer!
Alas! when, mild as morning-break,
I view'd the blush steal o'er her cheek,
When heav'd her snowy breast, more fair
In contrast with her raven hair,
She seem'd all nature to absorb
In the pure brightness of her orb.
III
And once, when o'er the thistly wasteMurmur'd the melancholy blast,
When from the dark-red thunder broke
The flame that rent the towering oak,
When spectres clad in sable shrouds,
Gleam'd from the chambers of the clouds;
When slow, along the midnight heath,
Mov'd the prophetic pomp of death;
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Shook, to the moon, their steely brows;
'Twas then I deem'd some danger near,
And own'd my bosom chill'd with fear;
For, as I saw her pallid hue,
Her shuddering frame, I trembled too!
IV
Yet now the lightning's shaft may fly:And ghosts may beckon from on high.
Tho' others quiver as the leaf;
I fear not—I am full of grief!
Tho' pale processions threaten fate,
I dread not the funereal state!
Others may shrink, in lonely halls,
From casques that sigh along the walls;
Unterrified I sit alone,
Nor heed the lifted vizor's groan!
'Tis only at my Arven's tomb
I see, how dark! the gather'd gloom:
Yet, as I drink the charnel air,
I weep, but cannot tremble there!
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EGYPTIAN ODE.
Where pleasures too intensely glow,
We oft observe the intruder Woe!—
We oft observe the intruder Woe!—
See tufted Faioum breathe delight
From rose-trees kindling on the sight,
From orange-blooms, pomegranate flowers
Of scarlet, or soft tamarind bowers,
And loftier palms, that wave, between,
Their foliage of a deeper green,
Relieving the bright azure skies
Where scarce a rainy vapour flies;
While thro' the fragrance as it blows
A stream of liquid amber flows,
While nestles many a gurgling dove
In the deep bosom of the grove,
And the plum'd ostrich on the sands,
Or pelican majestic stands.
From rose-trees kindling on the sight,
From orange-blooms, pomegranate flowers
Of scarlet, or soft tamarind bowers,
And loftier palms, that wave, between,
Their foliage of a deeper green,
Relieving the bright azure skies
Where scarce a rainy vapour flies;
While thro' the fragrance as it blows
A stream of liquid amber flows,
While nestles many a gurgling dove
In the deep bosom of the grove,
And the plum'd ostrich on the sands,
Or pelican majestic stands.
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To cool the sun's meridian beams,
There fruits refreshing kiss the streams,
Or blushing to eve's purple ray
Amid the breezy verdure play—
As its leaves shade each silver sluice
The pulpy water-melon's juice,
To eager thirst delicious balm;
And sugary dates that crown the palm.
There fruits refreshing kiss the streams,
Or blushing to eve's purple ray
Amid the breezy verdure play—
As its leaves shade each silver sluice
The pulpy water-melon's juice,
To eager thirst delicious balm;
And sugary dates that crown the palm.
Yet from the rocks that skirt the wood,
Fell tigers bound, to thirst on blood;
Yet the wide-water'd landscapes smile,
Where lurks the treacherous crocodile;
And, ere the melting fruit we grasp,
Death-doom'd, we feel the envenom'd asp.
Fell tigers bound, to thirst on blood;
Yet the wide-water'd landscapes smile,
Where lurks the treacherous crocodile;
And, ere the melting fruit we grasp,
Death-doom'd, we feel the envenom'd asp.
Then hail my Albion's hoary coast,
Where, tho' no scenes Elysium boast,
We court not temperate joys in vain,
Nor thrill'd by bliss, nor stung by pain.
Where, tho' no scenes Elysium boast,
We court not temperate joys in vain,
Nor thrill'd by bliss, nor stung by pain.
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ODE WRITTEN AFTER A THUNDER-STORM.
1785.
Red thro' a labouring cloud, that bore
Against the winds its lurid store,
Arose the lunar beam:
The foliage lash'd the forest-steep,
Then shrunk into a gloom more deep,
And with a sullen murmur foam'd the troubled stream.
Against the winds its lurid store,
Arose the lunar beam:
The foliage lash'd the forest-steep,
Then shrunk into a gloom more deep,
And with a sullen murmur foam'd the troubled stream.
O'er the dun skirtings of the dale,
The brooding spirit of the gale
In pitchy darkness hung;
When on a lofty-crested oak,
Sudden, the forked lightning broke,
And down the rocky dell its shiver'd branches flung.
The brooding spirit of the gale
In pitchy darkness hung;
When on a lofty-crested oak,
Sudden, the forked lightning broke,
And down the rocky dell its shiver'd branches flung.
Appall'd I saw the sulphur'd front
Of heaven! Above my sylvan haunt
I saw the tempest roll;
Till Fancy lent her magic aid,
Dispell'd the terrours of the shade,
And wing'd to distant climes my desultory soul.
Of heaven! Above my sylvan haunt
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Till Fancy lent her magic aid,
Dispell'd the terrours of the shade,
And wing'd to distant climes my desultory soul.
“Fear not,” she cried, “the thunder's wreck,
“Since Albion's guardian genii check
“The demons of the storm:
“Far other is the fever'd air,
“That kindles with eternal war,
“Where nature starts aghast at many a fiendlike form.
“Since Albion's guardian genii check
“The demons of the storm:
“Far other is the fever'd air,
“That kindles with eternal war,
“Where nature starts aghast at many a fiendlike form.
“Lo! where, amidst Messene's towers,
“That angel of perdition lours,
“Pavilion'd in the gloom!
“Mark—mark the dead portentous pause—
“See, earth distends her flaming jaws;
“And myriads sink ingulph'd in one disastrous tomb.
“That angel of perdition lours,
“Pavilion'd in the gloom!
“Mark—mark the dead portentous pause—
“See, earth distends her flaming jaws;
“And myriads sink ingulph'd in one disastrous tomb.
“Fell as the grisly lion prowls,
“Yon desolating whirlwind howls
“O'er Afric's savage waste:
“Save where the billowy horrors sail,
“In sultry stillness sleeps the gale;
“And, if the black air breathe, it breathes a poison'd blast.
“Yon desolating whirlwind howls
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“Save where the billowy horrors sail,
“In sultry stillness sleeps the gale;
“And, if the black air breathe, it breathes a poison'd blast.
“And, as the fierce Arabian bands
“Guide o'er immeasurable sands
“The camel's fiery way;
“Behold the raging Samiel rise,
“Pass in pale pomp athwart the skies,
“Shake his pestiferous wing, and rush to seize his prey.
“Guide o'er immeasurable sands
“The camel's fiery way;
“Behold the raging Samiel rise,
“Pass in pale pomp athwart the skies,
“Shake his pestiferous wing, and rush to seize his prey.
“His giant strides survey—his head
“Half viewless in a cloud of red;
“Ah! death was in that grasp!—
“To earth they fall: in thunders hoarse
“He riots o'er each shrivel'd corse,
“Catches the expiring groan, and stores the envenom'd gasp.
“Half viewless in a cloud of red;
“Ah! death was in that grasp!—
“To earth they fall: in thunders hoarse
“He riots o'er each shrivel'd corse,
“Catches the expiring groan, and stores the envenom'd gasp.
“Or turn thee, where the purest day
“Unsoften'd in its torrid ray
“Is all one glaring sky;
“Where no cool evening spreads its shade;
“No mellow tints of purple fade;
“But, as the sun retires, the blazing meteors fly.
“Unsoften'd in its torrid ray
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“Where no cool evening spreads its shade;
“No mellow tints of purple fade;
“But, as the sun retires, the blazing meteors fly.
“See in the livid heavens appear
“Yon speck, that swells its dusky sphere,
“And dims the boiling deep:
“Still broader it expands its orb;
“And bursting, as it would absorb
“All earth, destruction speeds the dread tornado's sweep.
“Yon speck, that swells its dusky sphere,
“And dims the boiling deep:
“Still broader it expands its orb;
“And bursting, as it would absorb
“All earth, destruction speeds the dread tornado's sweep.
“Ah! ruin wide as this extends
“Full oft, where panting India bends
“To drink the sacred stream,
“And roaring to the host of heaven,
“Views from their dens her panthers driv'n,
“Whilst all her citron groves are wrapt in one wide flame.
“Full oft, where panting India bends
“To drink the sacred stream,
“And roaring to the host of heaven,
“Views from their dens her panthers driv'n,
“Whilst all her citron groves are wrapt in one wide flame.
“And ruin, dire as this, hath spread
“Where Montezuma's offspring bled
“Beneath the ruffian blade;
“Where, blackening over Andes' height,
“The Condor wheels its monster flight,
“And bids the enormous plume its iceclad mountain shade.
“Where Montezuma's offspring bled
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“Where, blackening over Andes' height,
“The Condor wheels its monster flight,
“And bids the enormous plume its iceclad mountain shade.
“Yet here, tho' loud the tempest's roar,
“From Piercefield's castle, to the shore
“Where rough Tintadgel frowns,
“Thy Albion's temperate skies shall smile,
“And summer bless the genial isle,
“While her green clustering hills the unblasted fruitage crowns.
“From Piercefield's castle, to the shore
“Where rough Tintadgel frowns,
“Thy Albion's temperate skies shall smile,
“And summer bless the genial isle,
“While her green clustering hills the unblasted fruitage crowns.
“Here, tho' the keener lightnings play,
“'Tis but to give the unfolding day
“A more salubrious breeze;
“And, whirling sulphur to the skies,
“Tho' Thules sink, and Thules rise,
“Her firm-bas'd rocks shall stand, begirt with friendly seas!”
“'Tis but to give the unfolding day
“A more salubrious breeze;
“And, whirling sulphur to the skies,
“Tho' Thules sink, and Thules rise,
“Her firm-bas'd rocks shall stand, begirt with friendly seas!”
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ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE GALLERY.
1786.
On the dun portrait, duskier in decay,
Slept the silver orb of night;
When in a fleecy cloud the broken light,
Fainting fled. His tresses gray
To the brightening moon he shook,
And, with awaken'd wildness in his look
That on deeds of battle mus'd,
From his majestic brow a sabler shade effus'd.
Slept the silver orb of night;
When in a fleecy cloud the broken light,
Fainting fled. His tresses gray
To the brightening moon he shook,
And, with awaken'd wildness in his look
That on deeds of battle mus'd,
From his majestic brow a sabler shade effus'd.
“Ah! where the worthies of old time, (he sigh'd)
“Where the richly-pictur'd race
“That fronted the long gallery's scutcheon'd grace?
“Where the chief, whose mailed pride
“Near yon pillar erst repos'd;
“Whilst through the lifted beaver he disclos'd
“The Crusader's ardent soul,
“That bade the unhallow'd blood in one wide torrent roll.
“Where the richly-pictur'd race
“That fronted the long gallery's scutcheon'd grace?
“Where the chief, whose mailed pride
“Near yon pillar erst repos'd;
“Whilst through the lifted beaver he disclos'd
“The Crusader's ardent soul,
“That bade the unhallow'd blood in one wide torrent roll.
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“What though in ermin'd dignity I view
“Glanville's venerable mien?
“Alas, with life's expression dimly seen,
“Clay-cold is the pictur'd hue!
“Pale his consort's gorgeous train:
“Scarce glimmer the faint honours of her chain;
“Tho' but erst the ponderous gold
“Flung its resplendent light across each fluid fold.
“Glanville's venerable mien?
“Alas, with life's expression dimly seen,
“Clay-cold is the pictur'd hue!
“Pale his consort's gorgeous train:
“Scarce glimmer the faint honours of her chain;
“Tho' but erst the ponderous gold
“Flung its resplendent light across each fluid fold.
“What tho' where proud Godolphin crowns the plain
“Turreted in antique gloom,
“These hoary forms beneath the fretted dome
“Rise, in sweeping robes, again?
“There, unheeded too, they fade,
“Ah! never by the gazing eye survey'd;
“While their pensive shadows fall
“In solitary state along the banner'd hall.
“Turreted in antique gloom,
“These hoary forms beneath the fretted dome
“Rise, in sweeping robes, again?
“There, unheeded too, they fade,
“Ah! never by the gazing eye survey'd;
“While their pensive shadows fall
“In solitary state along the banner'd hall.
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“There once, when Chivalry's romantic flame
“Fiercely burnt in warrior breasts,
“The hospitable Baron hail'd his guests,
“Steel-clad by his tissued dame!
“Rich the goblet's golden gleam,
“Their plum'd casques nodding o'er its spiced stream:
“And, as many a deed was sung
“Of valorous enterprize, the roofs high-raft'd rung.
“Fiercely burnt in warrior breasts,
“The hospitable Baron hail'd his guests,
“Steel-clad by his tissued dame!
“Rich the goblet's golden gleam,
“Their plum'd casques nodding o'er its spiced stream:
“And, as many a deed was sung
“Of valorous enterprize, the roofs high-raft'd rung.
“There echoed to the minstrel-harp divine
“Tales of battling swords that clash'd,
“As all the tournament its glory flash'd
“On the chiefs of Cornish line—
“Tales of Kaliburn, that mow'd
“A million down, where slaughtering Arthur strode;
“Who, tho' strong by magic steel'd,
“Fell a gigantic corse, and shook all Camlan's field!
“Tales of battling swords that clash'd,
“As all the tournament its glory flash'd
“On the chiefs of Cornish line—
“Tales of Kaliburn, that mow'd
“A million down, where slaughtering Arthur strode;
“Who, tho' strong by magic steel'd,
“Fell a gigantic corse, and shook all Camlan's field!
“There, in heroic song, the adventurous blade,
“Storming the dim castle, broke
“The wizard spell, and, at the massy stroke,
“Rescued the long-prison'd maid!
“There, impetuous, from the van
“The red-cross knight along the ramparts ran;
“And, distain'd with paynim gore,
“From Salem's battlements the sacred trophies tore.
“Storming the dim castle, broke
“The wizard spell, and, at the massy stroke,
“Rescued the long-prison'd maid!
29
“The red-cross knight along the ramparts ran;
“And, distain'd with paynim gore,
“From Salem's battlements the sacred trophies tore.
“Such themes, familiar to Godolphin's walls,
“Midst the Baron's festal cheer,
“Fill'd, when the deeds of warlike worth were dear,
“All Cornubia's castle-halls!
“Buried with the mighty dead,
“From human eye the bardic fires are fled:
“Hers'd I saw Lanhydroc's lord!
“There Chivalry last hail'd the high baronial board.
“Midst the Baron's festal cheer,
“Fill'd, when the deeds of warlike worth were dear,
“All Cornubia's castle-halls!
“Buried with the mighty dead,
“From human eye the bardic fires are fled:
“Hers'd I saw Lanhydroc's lord!
“There Chivalry last hail'd the high baronial board.
“To prop yon desolated arch were vain,
“Mouldering by the moated streams!
“The unvaulted gate-way thro' its ivy gleams;
“As athwart the Gothic fane
“Yonder wildly-rifted yew,
“That o'er the cloyster its broad branches threw,
“Darksome in the days of yore,
“The wreck of each rude storm still echoes in the roar.
“Mouldering by the moated streams!
“The unvaulted gate-way thro' its ivy gleams;
“As athwart the Gothic fane
“Yonder wildly-rifted yew,
“That o'er the cloyster its broad branches threw,
“Darksome in the days of yore,
“The wreck of each rude storm still echoes in the roar.
30
“Perish'd are all the triumphs of romance!
“Yet, along the drear walls dank,
“The dinted target's and riv'n corslet's clank
“Tell of many a bloody lance;
“Where, Restormal's rampires round,
“To the rough fragment's mass the hills resound;
“Where Dunheved, frowning deep,
“Slopes its embattled towers with necromantic sweep.”
“Yet, along the drear walls dank,
“The dinted target's and riv'n corslet's clank
“Tell of many a bloody lance;
“Where, Restormal's rampires round,
“To the rough fragment's mass the hills resound;
“Where Dunheved, frowning deep,
“Slopes its embattled towers with necromantic sweep.”
He ceas'd: and kindling fearful to the view—
Rapid as the lightning's ray,
A spectre on the moon-beam glanc'd away!
Sudden his blank visage grew
Paler than the stiffen'd dead!
(Each column shivering as the spectre fled)
And, the shade of mortal mould,
Dim was his feeble form, his sombre eye was cold.
Rapid as the lightning's ray,
A spectre on the moon-beam glanc'd away!
Sudden his blank visage grew
Paler than the stiffen'd dead!
(Each column shivering as the spectre fled)
And, the shade of mortal mould,
Dim was his feeble form, his sombre eye was cold.
31
TO THE RIVER COLY.
1789.
Ah! soothing stream, whose murmurs clear
Meet, once again, my pensive ear,
That wand'rest down thine osier'd vale,
Where passion told her melting tale;
Thy evening banks to memory sweet,
I fondly trace, with pilgrim feet!
Here, stealing thro' the willow shade
That quiver'd o'er my charming maid,
Full oft hath youthful ardour prest
Trembling, the bloom on Laura's breast,
While to the languish of her eyes
That bosom heav'd and blush'd in sighs!
Then every twinkling leaf above
Seem'd conscious to the breath of love.
Sudden, the pathway's easy flow
Wav'd in a gentler curve below;
Each flower assum'd a soften'd hue,
And clos'd its cup in brighter dew!
32
As when I rov'd a lover here;
Tho' far from Laura's smile I stray,
And slope my solitary way;
Yet—yet, with no cold glance I see
This winding path, that willow tree;
Yet, musing o'er thy channel bend,
And in each pebble find a friend;
And eager catch, at every pace,
Of former joys some fading trace—
Some features of the past, that seem
The faery painting of a dream!
But ah! the twilight shadows fall;
Dun evening hastes to darken all:
A duskier verdure clothes the dale;
The mossy branches glimmer pale:
And, Coly! the fair scene is o'er,
Thy lovelorn waters mark'd no more!
33
ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF FRESHNESS;
SKET CHEDON THE FIRST OF MAY 1790, AT MAMHEAD, NEAR AN EVERGREEN OAK.
------ nigrum
Ilicibus crebris sacra nemus accubet umbra.
Virgil.
Ilicibus crebris sacra nemus accubet umbra.
Virgil.
O thou, the daughter of the vernal dew
That, glistering to the morn with pearly light
The gentle Aura woo'd
Beside a dripping cave;
There, midst the blush of roses, won the nymph
To dalliance, as in sighs she whisper'd love;
There saw thee born, as May
Unclos'd her laughing eye;
Spirit of Freshness, hail! At this dim hour
While, streakt with recent grey, the dawn appears,
Where sport thy humid steps,
Ambrosial essence, say?
34
Where frosty lilies veil their silver bells
Beneath the lively green
Of their full-shading leaves.
Or dost thou wander in the hoary field
Where, overhead, I view the cautious hare
Nibbling, while stillness reigns,
The barley's tender blade?
Or dost thou hover o'er the hawthorn bloom,
Where, in his nest of clay, the blackbird opes
His golden lids, and tunes
A soft, preluding strain?
Or, art thou soaring thro' the fleeced air
To meet the day-spring, where the plume-wet lark
Pours, sudden, his shrill note
Beneath a dusky cloud?
I see thee not—But lo! a vapoury shape
That oft belies thy form, emerging slow
From that deep central gloom,
Rests on the moontipt wood;
35
As gleams with icicles his azure vest,
Now shivers on the trees,
And feebly sinks from sight.
'Tis cold! And lo, upon the whitening folds
Of the dank mist that fills the hollow dell,
Chill damp with drizzly locks
Glides in his lurid car;
Where a lone fane o'er those broad rushes nods
In torpid slumber; save when flitting bats
Stir the rank ivy brown
That clasps its oozing walls!
Yet, yet, descending from yon eastern tent,
Whose amber seems to kiss the wavy plain,
A form, half-viewless, spreads
A flush purpureal round.
I know thee, Freshness! Lo, delicious green
Sprinkles thy path. The bursting buds above
With vivid moisture glow,
To mark thy gradual way.
36
The carmine blush, the yellow lustre clear:
And now entranc'd, I drink
Thy breath in living balms!
And not a ryegrass trembles, but it gives
A scent salubrious: not a flower exhales
Its odours, but it breathes
O'er all, a cool repose.
Mild shadowy power! whilst now thy tresses bath'd
In primrose tints, the snowdrop's coldness shed
On sky-blue hyacinths,
Thy chaste and simple wreath;
While flows to zephyr thy transparent robe
Stealing the colours of the lunar bow,
How short thy vestal reign
Amid the rosy lawn!
Yes! if thou mix the saffron hues that stream
From the bright orient with the roscid rays
Of yonder orb that hangs
A silvery drop, on high;
37
To catch the sparkles of thy modest star;
With all the mingled beams
Heightening some virgin's bloom;
Fleet as the shadow from the breded heaven
Brushing the gossamer, thy steps retire
Within the gelid gloom
Of thy green-vested oak.
There, as its ambient arch with airy sweep
Chequers the ground, thine “eyes of dewy light”
Pursue the turf that floats
In many a tremulous wave.
And now, retreating to the breezy marge
Of the pure stream, thy ruby fingers rear
The new-blown flowers that wake
To tinge its crystal tide:
Or gently on thine alabaster urn
Thy head reclines, beneath some aged beech
That mid the crisped brook
Steeps its long-wreathed roots;
38
Where the chaste naiads rang'd their glittering spars,
Rills, trickling thro' the moss,
Purl o'er the pebbled floor.
There sleep till eve; as now the tyrant Heat
Kindles, with rapid strides, the extensive lawn,
And e'en thy favourite haunt,
The verdurous oak, invades.
And may no vapours from that osier'd bank
Annoy thee—thou, whose delicacy dreads,
Tho' shrinking from the sun,
The sallow's stagnant shade.
There sleep till eve; unless the spring-lov'd showers
Pattering among the foliage, bid thee rise
To taste those transient blooms
That with the rainbow live.
There sleep till eve; when, as thy parent Air
With feathery softness flutters o'er thine urn,
And midst the vermeil bower,
The dew thy feet impearls;
39
Whose radiant skirts half-hide the westering orb,
Whilst a fine emerald hue
The whole horizon stains;
Till thro' the fragrance of his sweet-briar leaves
Thy glow-worm flings a solitary ray,
As Peace descends, to hush
The twilight-bosom'd scene!
40
ODE ON THE SUSCEPTIBILITY OF THE POETICAL MIND.
1791.
'Tis not for vulgar souls to feel
Those sacred sympathies refin'd,
That o'er the Poet's bosom steal,
When nature, to his glowing mind,
Each varied form, each colour gives,
Where rich the bloom of beauty lives.
Those sacred sympathies refin'd,
That o'er the Poet's bosom steal,
When nature, to his glowing mind,
Each varied form, each colour gives,
Where rich the bloom of beauty lives.
For him yon smooth and shadowy green
In contrast with the craggy steep,
Hath charms, by common eyes unseen;
As o'er the lawn with airy sweep
That oak's extensive foliage flows,
And to the summer-sunbeam glows.
In contrast with the craggy steep,
Hath charms, by common eyes unseen;
As o'er the lawn with airy sweep
That oak's extensive foliage flows,
And to the summer-sunbeam glows.
41
By fancy fir'd, his eye perceives
New pleasure in the unsullied stream,
That to the rose's vivid leaves
Reflects a crimson-tinctur'd gleam;
And wanders down the daisied vale,
To the tall aspin twinkling pale.
New pleasure in the unsullied stream,
That to the rose's vivid leaves
Reflects a crimson-tinctur'd gleam;
And wanders down the daisied vale,
To the tall aspin twinkling pale.
For him yon fawns in many a maze
The splendour of the morning court;
Or group'd, enjoy the genial blaze,
As satiate of their frolic sport;
And, with a charm confest by few,
The setting glory still pursue.
The splendour of the morning court;
Or group'd, enjoy the genial blaze,
As satiate of their frolic sport;
And, with a charm confest by few,
The setting glory still pursue.
He sees some faery power illume
The orient hills with richer light,
Chasing the mist's disparted gloom:
He sees, upon the mountain-height,
Some faery power the pencil hold
To paint the evening-cloud with gold.
The orient hills with richer light,
Chasing the mist's disparted gloom:
He sees, upon the mountain-height,
Some faery power the pencil hold
To paint the evening-cloud with gold.
42
There, as the deep and stilly shade
On night's pale bosom seems to rest,
And, from the glimmering azure, fade
The last cool tints that streak the west;
He heaves—tho' others wonder why—
He cherishes the pensive sigh.
On night's pale bosom seems to rest,
And, from the glimmering azure, fade
The last cool tints that streak the west;
He heaves—tho' others wonder why—
He cherishes the pensive sigh.
If, then, a livelier passion move
The Poet's breast, to nature true;
If in such scenes, with looks of love,
He trace a more attractive hue;
His heart what exstacy inspires,
The female form when beauty fires!
The Poet's breast, to nature true;
If in such scenes, with looks of love,
He trace a more attractive hue;
His heart what exstacy inspires,
The female form when beauty fires!
Light, as on air, her steps advance:
Others may gaze with pleasur'd eye—
He casts a more enamour'd glance;
He breathes a more delicious sigh!
Others may hail the enchanting sight—
He faints with tremulous delight!
Others may gaze with pleasur'd eye—
He casts a more enamour'd glance;
He breathes a more delicious sigh!
Others may hail the enchanting sight—
He faints with tremulous delight!
43
That graceful negligence of mien;
And, mantling as emotions rise,
The blush of languishing sixteen
To win the soul by sweet surprize;
Those tresses, which luxuriant rove
To kiss the heaving bloom of love—
And, mantling as emotions rise,
The blush of languishing sixteen
To win the soul by sweet surprize;
Those tresses, which luxuriant rove
To kiss the heaving bloom of love—
And melting o'er the accordant keys
Touch'd by her rosy fingers fleet,
Those tones, which, as the dying breeze,
Mix with a voice divinely sweet—
Others unwonted ardours boast;
But, O Letitia, he is lost!
Touch'd by her rosy fingers fleet,
Those tones, which, as the dying breeze,
Mix with a voice divinely sweet—
Others unwonted ardours boast;
But, O Letitia, he is lost!
Nor less his Taste and Genius prize
The gay Honoria's artless youth;
Oft as her more effulgent eyes,
Beaming intelligence and truth,
And, kindling quick with fancy, dart
The expression of the untroubled heart—
The gay Honoria's artless youth;
Oft as her more effulgent eyes,
Beaming intelligence and truth,
44
The expression of the untroubled heart—
Ere with a spirit unreprest
Her easy converse steal the hours,
Where shines, in blessing others blest,
A soul unconscious of its powers;
Ere warbled yet a woodnote wild
Proclaim her, Nature's favourite child.
Her easy converse steal the hours,
Where shines, in blessing others blest,
A soul unconscious of its powers;
Ere warbled yet a woodnote wild
Proclaim her, Nature's favourite child.
And, if a Mary's glance so meek,
So gentle—so retir'd an air,
Her native loveliness bespeak;
While, as the radiance of the star
That softly gilds the evening-dew,
Her's is a trembling lustre too;
So gentle—so retir'd an air,
Her native loveliness bespeak;
While, as the radiance of the star
That softly gilds the evening-dew,
Her's is a trembling lustre too;
O, if her heart such feelings breathe,
So tender as her blushes tell,
His hand shall weave a modest wreath
To suit her timid sweetness well;
And ever to her worth awake,
Shall guard it for his Mary's sake.
So tender as her blushes tell,
His hand shall weave a modest wreath
To suit her timid sweetness well;
45
Shall guard it for his Mary's sake.
Such are the forms he values most:
Waves the rich foliage o'er the lawn;
The dales their roseate treasures boast;
In sunny mazes sports the fawn;
The rills their liquid amber pour—
Still, still he fondly fancies more.
Waves the rich foliage o'er the lawn;
The dales their roseate treasures boast;
In sunny mazes sports the fawn;
The rills their liquid amber pour—
Still, still he fondly fancies more.
“Come, Mary! grace the Poet's shade;
“O come, to harmonize the whole!”
Yet, if he meet the melting maid,
Her beauty fills his ravish'd soul!
The lawn, the vale, new charms may own—
The charms he sees in her alone!
“O come, to harmonize the whole!”
Yet, if he meet the melting maid,
Her beauty fills his ravish'd soul!
The lawn, the vale, new charms may own—
The charms he sees in her alone!
46
THE GENIUS OF DANMONIUM.
1794.
Where restless Teign, with many a surge
Foams to his sacred Logan's height,
The rockstone, at the wood's dark verge,
Shook to the moon, array'd in light;
When, as a cloud far off, disparting, flew,
A shadowy form appear'd, majestic to my view.
Foams to his sacred Logan's height,
The rockstone, at the wood's dark verge,
Shook to the moon, array'd in light;
When, as a cloud far off, disparting, flew,
A shadowy form appear'd, majestic to my view.
“Child of the dust”—the Genius cried—
“To thee (no trivial boast) 'tis giv'n
“To hear with emulative pride,
“How Concord links the inspir'd of Heaven
“Not with the Muse's silken ties alone,
“But in that harmony which Friendship deems her own.
“To thee (no trivial boast) 'tis giv'n
“To hear with emulative pride,
“How Concord links the inspir'd of Heaven
“Not with the Muse's silken ties alone,
“But in that harmony which Friendship deems her own.
“'Twas Concord bade the Bards of old
“To Inspiration's numbers string
“Their sweet-ton'd harps of burnisht gold
“By sunny mount, or mossy spring—
“Bade them, where Echo loves the sylvan dell,
“The Druid's mystic pomp, the Hero's prowess tell.
“To Inspiration's numbers string
“Their sweet-ton'd harps of burnisht gold
“By sunny mount, or mossy spring—
47
“The Druid's mystic pomp, the Hero's prowess tell.
“The soul-subduing strain was high!
“Still, still it vibrates in mine ear!
“I catch the holy minstrelsy
“To Devon's faery vallies dear—
“Tho' central oaks no more, in forest deep,
“Around the grey-stone cirque their twilight umbrage sweep.
“Still, still it vibrates in mine ear!
“I catch the holy minstrelsy
“To Devon's faery vallies dear—
“Tho' central oaks no more, in forest deep,
“Around the grey-stone cirque their twilight umbrage sweep.
“Snatcht from the altars of the East
“I see the fires of Danmon rise!
“To mark the new-moon's solemn feast,
“Behold, they lighten to the skies;
“And, as assembled clans in silence gaze,
“The distant Karnes draw near, and kindle to the blaze!
“I see the fires of Danmon rise!
“To mark the new-moon's solemn feast,
“Behold, they lighten to the skies;
“And, as assembled clans in silence gaze,
“The distant Karnes draw near, and kindle to the blaze!
“Fast by yon chasmed hill that frowns
“Cleft by an elemental shock,
“As ashen foliage light embrowns
“Its rude side ribb'd with massy rock;
“Lo, on the pillar'd way the white-robe'd bands
“In long procession move, where proud the Cromlech stands.
“Cleft by an elemental shock,
“As ashen foliage light embrowns
“Its rude side ribb'd with massy rock;
48
“In long procession move, where proud the Cromlech stands.
“But see, where breaking thro' the gloom,
“Danmonium's warriour-genius speeds
“That scythed car, the dread of Rome!
“See, fiercer than the lightning, steeds
“Trampling the dead, their hoofs with carnage stain,
“Rush thro' the spear-strown field, and snort o'er heaps of slain.
“Danmonium's warriour-genius speeds
“That scythed car, the dread of Rome!
“See, fiercer than the lightning, steeds
“Trampling the dead, their hoofs with carnage stain,
“Rush thro' the spear-strown field, and snort o'er heaps of slain.
“Such was the heart-inspiring theme
“Of Bards who sung each recent deed;
“Whether amid the mailed gleam
“Of war, they saw the hero bleed;
“Or whether, in the Druid's circling fane,
“They hymn'd to dreadful rites, the deep mysterious strain.
“Of Bards who sung each recent deed;
“Whether amid the mailed gleam
“Of war, they saw the hero bleed;
“Or whether, in the Druid's circling fane,
“They hymn'd to dreadful rites, the deep mysterious strain.
“No more to boast a spotless green,
“Erelong their garlands deck'd the dead;
“As, fading from the sight, the scene
“Of oriental glory fled!
“Then written verse for oral numbers came,
“And lays of little worth were consecrate to fame.
“Erelong their garlands deck'd the dead;
“As, fading from the sight, the scene
“Of oriental glory fled!
49
“And lays of little worth were consecrate to fame.
“Then Saxon Poets swept their lyres,
“But harsh was their untutor'd song:
“Then Norman minstrels vaunted fires
“That ill to Phœbus' train belong;
“Not that the Bard of Isca's elder'd vale
“Told to the sparkling stream an inharmonious tale.
“But harsh was their untutor'd song:
“Then Norman minstrels vaunted fires
“That ill to Phœbus' train belong;
“Not that the Bard of Isca's elder'd vale
“Told to the sparkling stream an inharmonious tale.
“And still, along the waste of years
“Devonia mark'd some scatter'd rhymes;
“But oft, her eyes suffus'd with tears,
“Wistful, she look'd to ancient times—
“Ah! few, monastic Tavy's banks beside,
“Few were the Brownes that trac'd the silver-winding tide.
“Devonia mark'd some scatter'd rhymes;
“But oft, her eyes suffus'd with tears,
“Wistful, she look'd to ancient times—
“Ah! few, monastic Tavy's banks beside,
“Few were the Brownes that trac'd the silver-winding tide.
50
“And tho' of fancy and of taste
“A Rowe, the first-begotten child,
“By dark romantic woods embrac'd,
“Warbled his native carols wild;
“'Twas from the lonely copse that high o'erhung
“The Tamar's haunted wave, his ditty sweet he sung!
“A Rowe, the first-begotten child,
“By dark romantic woods embrac'd,
“Warbled his native carols wild;
“'Twas from the lonely copse that high o'erhung
“The Tamar's haunted wave, his ditty sweet he sung!
“Tho' Gay attun'd his Dorian oat,
“Such as beseems a simple swain;
“He only pip'd a rustic note
“To cheer the solitary plain—
“Where, since the Bards of old, hath social love
“Assenting Genius woo'd, to grace the Muse's grove?
“Such as beseems a simple swain;
“He only pip'd a rustic note
“To cheer the solitary plain—
“Where, since the Bards of old, hath social love
“Assenting Genius woo'd, to grace the Muse's grove?
“Where, as in Danmon's myrtle bowers
“The race of Iran caught the flame,
“Exerting their congenial powers,
“Not envious of a rival's name;
“Where now, in close fraternal union meet
“Spirits that court the Muse by friendship doubly sweet?
“The race of Iran caught the flame,
“Exerting their congenial powers,
“Not envious of a rival's name;
“Where now, in close fraternal union meet
“Spirits that court the Muse by friendship doubly sweet?
51
“E'n now they live! E'en here they hail
“Their reddening cliffs, in strains sublime;
“Embosom'd in the vermeil dale,
“Nurst by the rosy-breathing clime!
“Here many a letter'd minstrel, more refin'd
“Than Bards of other times, displays the ingenuous mind.
“Their reddening cliffs, in strains sublime;
“Embosom'd in the vermeil dale,
“Nurst by the rosy-breathing clime!
“Here many a letter'd minstrel, more refin'd
“Than Bards of other times, displays the ingenuous mind.
“Behold, where lingering Isca laves
“The turrets on her sloping banks,
“While, far reflected by the waves
“Rise her rich elms in tufted ranks,
“The wreaths of Genius and of Taste adorn
“Those whom with partial smile I greet in Devon born.
“The turrets on her sloping banks,
“While, far reflected by the waves
“Rise her rich elms in tufted ranks,
“The wreaths of Genius and of Taste adorn
“Those whom with partial smile I greet in Devon born.
“What tho' the Bards shall harp no more
“To wondering ears their magic lays;
“Yet shall my chosen tribe restore
“The long-lost fame of other days—
“Rapt with diviner energies, aspire
“E'en to empyreal worlds, and catch the seraph's fire!”
“To wondering ears their magic lays;
“Yet shall my chosen tribe restore
“The long-lost fame of other days—
“Rapt with diviner energies, aspire
“E'en to empyreal worlds, and catch the seraph's fire!”
52
He ceas'd: and to the faultering sound
The Spirit of the rock replied:
The old oaks bending kiss'd the ground
Then wav'd their boughs with conscious pride;
While, borne on his translucent shell, hoar Teign
Joy'd that two sons were his, to rival Isca's reign.
The Spirit of the rock replied:
The old oaks bending kiss'd the ground
Then wav'd their boughs with conscious pride;
While, borne on his translucent shell, hoar Teign
Joy'd that two sons were his, to rival Isca's reign.
53
TO A GENTLEMAN AND HIS FAMILY ON THEIR DEPARTURE FROM THEIR COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEPTEMBER 1800.
While, joyous 'mid the vernal blooms,
My warblers sleek their golden plumes
And chaunt their woodnotes clear;
I bid them, thro' my laurel sprays,
Still glance their hues, and pour their lays,
Nor heed the passing year.
My warblers sleek their golden plumes
And chaunt their woodnotes clear;
I bid them, thro' my laurel sprays,
Still glance their hues, and pour their lays,
Nor heed the passing year.
But, transient as the blush of Spring,
Far, far away, each vagrant wing
Betrays the unpitying breast:
And, as its gleam my heart deceives,
I mark, among the shivering leaves,
A solitary nest.
Far, far away, each vagrant wing
Betrays the unpitying breast:
And, as its gleam my heart deceives,
I mark, among the shivering leaves,
A solitary nest.
54
Ye too, while summer-suns are gay,
My every ardent with repay
With social converse kind:
But, when the winds blow cold and drear,
Leave, as ye sudden disappear,
A lonely roof behind.
My every ardent with repay
With social converse kind:
But, when the winds blow cold and drear,
Leave, as ye sudden disappear,
A lonely roof behind.
Yet shall my warblers, blithe again,
Burnish the plume, and trill the strain,
As wintry tempests cease:
And, shall your smiles new lustre grant
To those chill walls? Again, the Aunt
Restore ------ her charming Niece?
Burnish the plume, and trill the strain,
As wintry tempests cease:
And, shall your smiles new lustre grant
To those chill walls? Again, the Aunt
Restore ------ her charming Niece?
| Poems | |