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O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed
SONGS OF THE PIXIES.
V. The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of
When Evening's dusky car, beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a
Crown'd with her dewy star, small distance from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered bill, is an excavation called the Pixies' Parlor. Steals o'er
the fading sky in shadowy fught The roots of old trees form its ceiling ; and on its sides are
On leaves of aspen trees innumerable ciphers, among which the author discovered his
We tremble to the breeze, own cipher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their Veild from the grosser ken of mortal sight childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies,
Or, haply, at the visionary hour, during the Summer months of the year 1793 ; one of whom, Along our wildly-bower'd sequester'd walk, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colorless yet We listen to the enamour'd rustic's talk; c!ear, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, the following irregular Ode was written.
Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle
Or guide of soul-subduing power
The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.
Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank, Here the blackbird strains his throat;
Or, silent-sandalld, pay our defter court
Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,
Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport II.
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam When fades the moon all shadowy-pale,
By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream; And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Or where his waves with loud unquiet song Ere Morn with living gems bedight
Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froth along Purples the East with streaky light,
Or where, his silver waters smoothed to resi,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
Hence, thou lingerer, Light! Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,
Eve saddens into Night. Who jogs the accustom'd road along,
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view And paces cheery to her cheering song.
The sombre hours, that round thee stand
With downcast eyes (a duteous band!)
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew
Sorceress of the ebon throne !
Thy power the Pixies own,
When round thy raven brow
Heaven's lucent roses glow,
And clouds, in watery colors drest,
Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest :
What time the pale moon sheds a softer day, With wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age :
Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beain : Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,
For 'mid the quivering light 't is ours to play,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
Welcome, Ladies! to the cell
Where the blameless Pixies dwell :
Queen, By Indolence and Fancy brought,
With what obeisance meet A youthful Bard, “ unknown to Fame,"
Thy presence shall we greet?
Graceful Ease in artless stole,
And white-robed Purity of soul,
With Honor's softer mien ;
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek-eyed Pity eloquentiy fair,
As snow-drop wet with dew
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole ['NDERNEATH a huge oak tree
While Innocence stood smiling by There was, of swine, a huge company,
fond heart! this bootless moan: That grunted as they crunch'd the mast :
Those hours on rapid pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd
The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
On heedless eyes may pour the day: Blacker was he than blackest jet,
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
Endears her renovated ray. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight
What though she leaves the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the wanderer of the night.
Many Autumns, many Springs
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING,
O thou, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a She, Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight They built them a nest in the topmost bough, Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow. Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day. But soon came a woodman in leathern guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, He'd an ax in his hand, not a word he spoke, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling At length he brought down the poor Raven's own Each power that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring oak.
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trin, His young ones were kill'd; for they could not
She leap'd, awaken'd by the pattering shower. And their mother did die of a broken heart. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy poet's dream!
O’er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given,
As late each flower that sweetest blows
Around his brows a beamy wreath
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
But when unweeting of the guile
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
And O! he cried—“ Of magic kind What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find I'll fix my empire here."
As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd-
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
And He the glitter of the Dew
From the pomp of sceptred state,
Too well those lovely lips disclose
TO A YOUNG ASS.
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
Poor liule foal of an oppressed race!
WHEN Youth his faery reign began
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
Death came with friendly care ; It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?"
The opening bud to Heaven convey'd, Innocent Foal! thou poor despised forlorn!
And bade it blossom there. I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn! And fain would take thee with me, in the dell of peace and mild equality to dwell, Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
ROSS. How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF TILS“ MAN OF ROSS. And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet to me
RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.
Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of
He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, Tell me, on what holy ground
Or where the sorrow-shrivell’d captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?
Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray Halcyon Daughter of the skies,
Beneath this roof is thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies.
! Fill to the good mun s name one grateful glass
To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A
Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,
With eye that rollid around, in asking gaze, ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander. And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,
Thy follies such! the hard world mark d them well I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Were they more wise, the proud who never fell? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours
Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ; Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks
Sloth-jaundic'd all! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendshi-'s precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,
sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.
I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Is this piled earth our being's passless mound:
Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,
Tired sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.
And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.
TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
Aye as the star of evening fung its beam
In broken radiance on the wavy stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM. My soul amid the pensive twilight glooin
Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb
Where'er I wanderd Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten’d in the tear And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man!
No knell that wild, but fill'd my anxious eye, 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,
And suffering Nature wept that one should die! If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;
Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West: A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,
When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdain And on we go in heaviness and fear! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower
With giant fury burst her triple chain! Some pigmy Foy in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around:
ande, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the lleart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,
small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See Reale's
Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past;