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O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwin'd
With wildest texture, blacken’d o'er with age :
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind.

Beneath whose foliage pale

Fann'd by the unfrequent gale
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.


Thither, while the murm'ring throng
Of wild bees hum their drowsy song,

By Indolence and Fancy brought,
A youthful Bard, “unknown to fame,”

Woos the Queen of Solemn Thought,
And heaves the gentle mis’ry of a sigh,

Gazing with tearful eye,
As round our sandy grot appear
Many a rudely sculptur'd name

To pensive Mem’ry dear!
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur'd hue

We glance before his view :
O’er his hush'd soul our soothing witch'ries shed
And twine our fairy garlands round his head.


When Evening's dusky car,

Crown'd with her dewy star,
Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;

On leaves of aspern trees

We tremble to the breeze,
Veild from the grosser ben of mortal sight.

Or, haply, at the visionary hour,
Along our wild sequestred walk,
We listen to th’ enamour'd rustic's talk;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle nest;
Or, guide of soul-subduing power,

Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.


Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale We flash our fairy feet in gamesome prank; Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court

Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale, Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport,

Supine he slumbers on a violet bank; Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam, By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream, Or where his wave with loud unquiet song, Dash'd o'er the rocky channel, froths along; Or where his silver waters smooth'd to rest, The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.


Hence! thou lingerer Light !

Eve saddens into Night.
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view
The sombre hours, that round thee stand,

With down-cast 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

y colours drest, Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest; What time the pale moon sheds a softer day,

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: For mid the quiv'ring light 'tis ours to play,

Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.


Welcome, Ladies ! to the cell,

Where the blameless Pixies dwell. Butthou, sweet nymph! proclaim'd our Fairy Queen

With what obeisance meet

Thy presence shall we greet ?
For lo l attendant on thy steps are seen

Graceful Ease in artless stole,
And white-rob’d Purity of soul,

With Honour's softer mien :
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,
As snow-drop wet with dew.


Unboastful Maid! tho' now the Lily pale

Transparent grace thy beauties meek ;
Yet ere again along th' impurpling vale,
The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove,
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws

We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;
And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

Extract a blush for Love!


As late each flower that sweetest blows

I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose

A sleeping love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath

Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glow'd his cheek bereath

Inebriate with dew.

I softly seiz'd th' unguarded Power,

Nor scar'd his balmy rest;
And plac'd him, cag'd within the flower,

On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile

Awoke the pris'ner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,

And stamp'd his fairy feet.
Ah! soon the soul entrancing-sight

Subdued th' impatient boy!
He gaz'd! he thrillid with deep delight !

Then clapp'd his wings for joy.
And oh ! he cried—“Of magic kind

What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find

I'll fix my empire here."


ONE, kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd-
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?
Yon viewless Wand'rer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er th' uninjur'd Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigour to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.

Bashful lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red !
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The Triumphs of the op’ning Rose ;
O fair ! O graceful ! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleas’d I hear the whisper'd “No!”
The whisper'd “No” -how little meant !
Sweet Falsehood, that endears Consent;
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.



Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race !
I love the languid Patience of thy face :
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade ?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy Prophetic Fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate ?-
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes ?
Or is thy sad heart thrillid with filial pain
To see thy wretched Mother's shorten’d Chain ?
And truly, very piteous is her Lot-
Chain’d to a Log within a narrow spot

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