University of Virginia Library

Deep in the silence of the grassy plains,
Where Flora, drest in purple beauty reigns,
Ambrosial queen of flowerets sweet and fair;
Impregnated with vapours the thick air
Grows stagnant: here at frequent births transpire,
Profuse, the living particles of fire,
Which, from her lap, the Earth prolific flings,
The genial seeds, and origin of things:
These, long time ripening, oft as Titan's ray
Bright-burning blazes on the summer's day,
At length, emerging from the soil, repair,
And sport, capricious, in the fields of air:
Some, lightly mounting in th' etherial sky,
Expatiate freely, and in meteors fly:
Some, near the ground their vagrant course pursue,
And blend delusion with the nightly dew:
For whether from the strife of moist and dry,
Or from bitumen fiery sparkles fly,
A sudden flame the mingling vapours give,
Which seems, to mortal eyes, to move and live.
Lo! when the beauteous landskip fades in night,
In some irriguous valley, glimmering bright,
The false flame dances, or with quivering gleam,
Skims on the bosom of the winding stream,
Sports with the Naiads, and in wanton play,
Kisses the sisters of the watery way.
Now thro' the void the vain excursive light,
Fleet as the wind, precipitates its flight,
Unfix'd and volatile with instant bound
'Tis here, 'tis there, and roves the country round.
Oft as the darkling owl renews her song,
In lone church-yards it gleams, the mournful graves among.
Should some old hag slow hobbling hither tend,
She spies, no doubt, the fiery-flaming fiend;
To her mind's eye a thousand ghosts appear,
The foolish apparitions of her fear.
Then all around tremendous tales are spread,
And the weak vulgar stand appall'd with dread;
For here they deem, depriv'd the golden light,
That spirits wander in the gloom of night;
Or that pale Proserpine, fierce-visag'd, comes
To number all the melancholy tombs,
And dreadful, as she frowns, the deadly dame
Shakes her dire torches tipt with livid flame.

Oft o'er the dreary waste, or boundless plain,
This bright deception leads the nightly swain;
Thoughtless of harm he plods the forest o'er,
Where never wanderer bent his way before,
At length, deluded by the fickle fire,
He sinks absorpt in bogs, and flounces in the mire.

Thus once, where Ladon rolls his silent flood,
Laugh'd the fair Naiads at th' Arcadian God;
A blooming nymph he saw, admir'd, carest,
And when he strove to clasp her to his breast,
Plung'd in the waves among the watery weeds
He lost the virgin, and embrac'd the reeds.

But when the rosy morn her blush displays,
And all the splendor of the stars decays,
The light fantastic phantoms cease to glare,
Lost in the day, and flit in empty air.

Descartes thus, great Nature's wandering guide,
Fallacious led Philosophy aside,
'Till Newton rose, in orient beauty bright,
He rose, and brought the world's dark laws to light,
Then subtile matter saw, and vanish'd at his sight.