Poems by William Stanley Roscoe

Spirits of air! that wake th' Æolian strings
To the deep warbling of the seraph's voice,
Now hover o'er with still and viewless wings,
Now in the tide of melody rejoice.

Now pause, while echo thro' the listening sky
Wafts the soft billows to her aery shore;
Now smite the chords with thrilling ecstacy,
And bid the heart your heavenly strain adore.

Chill are the woods, and desart is the heath,
And mute the songsters in their leafless bower,
While your soft whispers thro' my lattice breathe,
And solace with your joys the wintry hour.

Cherubs of love, when dawn'd the vernal year,
I saw ye woo the purple breath of spring,
Kiss from her opening eyes the April tear,
And waft new fragrance from your perfum'd wing!

I heard ye revel with the summer wind,
In the deep foliage of the sighing grove;
And on the full moon's shadowy beam reclin'd,
List to the night bird's soothing song of love.

When autumn mourn'd along the misty vale.
And the sere chaplets wither'd on her head,
I caught your spirits in the dying gale,
And heard ye rustle in her leaf-strewn bed.

And live ye now upon the freezing wind,
Songsters of bliss, and brave the tempest's hour;
Doth winter ne'er your wings in fetters bind?
Dread not your rosy lips the icy shower?

Sisters of hope, come to my aery lyre,
While mute I bend, your heavenly voice to hear;
And on you pour my eyes with fond desire,
And drink your falling notes with ravish'd ear.

“Mortal, that hear'st, O listen to the lay
That tells of summer months, and blooming flowers,
The golden promise of life's orient day,
Wild tales of bliss, and love-devoted hours.

“List to the lay, and bid the spirit bend,
And worship at the sacred shrine of love;
In homage let thy breathing vows ascend,
Thou that wouldst hours of heavenly rapture prove.

“Resign the soul to love's supreme delight,
And we will bathe thee in our vision blest,
With forms of beauty feed thy ravish'd sight,
And fan new flames of passion in thy breast.

“Come to the sweet south's deep-embosom'd vale,
Where zephyr sighs among the violet beds!
Come, and inspire the heaven-descending gale,
That wafts fresh fragrance o'er the dewy meads.

“Where the deep forest spreads his sylvan shade,
And all his wandering echoes love to sport,
Where blooms the thornless rose, nor blooms to fade,
And sovereign Love hath fix'd his smiling court.

“Nor clouds nor tempests fright the halcyon world,
But forms of heaven-born rapture hover round,
With golden plumage to the sun unfurl'd,
And shower fresh incense on the blooming ground.

“There in the still grove shalt thou joy to find
That angel form,—the form that sways thy breast,
Wandering unbosom'd to the vernal wind,
And rob'd in Nature's simplest, loveliest vest.

“And thou shalt prompt the lighting of the eye,
And wake her spirit to extatic bliss,
Chide with soft breath her bosom's heaving sigh,
And rob the zephyr of his rosy kiss.”—

And pause ye now, ye cherubs of the wind,
And is your strain of promis'd pleasure past?
How sunk, how torn, how ravish'd, how declin'd,
Swept by the spirit of the northern blast!

So flee my hopes, so sinks my fainting heart,
So my fond dreams of pleasure fade and die,
And all that Love had promis'd to impart,
Is vanish'd with your passing melody.

University of Virginia Library

TO AN ÆOLIAN HARP IN WINTER.