And near him many a fiendish eye
Had glared with a fell malignity,
And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear,
Came screaming on his startled ear.
His wings are wet about his breast,
The plume hangs dripping from his crest,
His eyes are blurred by the lightning's glare,
And his ears are stunned with the thunder's
blare.

But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew,
He thrust before and he struck behind,
Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through,
And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind;
Howling, the misty specters flew,

They rend the air with frightful cries,
For he has gained the welkin blue,

And the land of clouds beneath him lies.

Up to the cope, careering swift,

In breathless motion fast,
Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,
Or the sea-roc rides the blast,
The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,
The sphered moon is past,
The earth but seems a tiny blot

On a sheet of azure cast.

Oh! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight,
To tread the starry plain of even,
To meet the thousand eyes of night,

And feel the cooling breath of heaven!
But the elfin made no stop or stay
Till he came to the bank of the milky-way;
Then he checked his courser's foot,

And watched for the glimpse of the planetshoot.

Sudden along the snowy tide

That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall,
The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide,
Attired in sunset's crimson pall;
Around the fay they weave the dance,
They skip before him on the plain,
And one has taken his wasp-sting lance,
And one upholds his bridle-rein;
With warblings wild they lead him on
To where, through clouds of amber seen,
Studded with stars, resplendent shone

The palace of the sylphid queen.
Its spiral columns, gleaming bright,
Were streamers of the northern light;
Its curtains' light and lovely flush
Was of the morning's rosy blush,
And the ceiling fair, that rose aboon,
The white and feathery fleece of noon.
But oh, how fair the shape that lay

Beneath a rainbow, bending bright!
She seemed to the entranced fay

The loveliest of the forms of light.
Her mantle was the purple rolled
At twilight in the west afar;
'Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,
And buttoned with a sparkling star.
Her face was like the lily roon

That veils the vestal planet's hue;
Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon,
Set floating in the welkin blue.
Her hair is like the sunny beam,

And the diamond gems which round it gleam
Are the pure drops of dewy even

That ne'er have left their native heaven.

She raised her eyes to the wandering sprite, And they leaped with smiles, for well I ween Never before in the bowers of light

Had the form of an earthly fay been seen. Long she looked in his tiny face,

Long with his butterfly cloak she played, She smoothed his wings of azure lace, And handled the tassel of his blade; And as he told in accents low

The story of his love and woe,

She felt new pains to her bosom rise,
And the tear-drop started to her eyes.
And "Oh! sweet spirit of earth, she cried,"
"Return no more to your woodland height,
But ever here with me abide

In the land of everlasting light!
Within the fleecy drift we'll lie,

We'll hang upon the rainbow's rim, And all the jewels of the sky

Around thy brow shall brightly beam;
And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream
That rolls its whitening foam aboon,

And ride upon the lightning's gleam,
And dance upon the orbed moon!
We'll sit within the Pleiad ring,
We'll rest on Orion's starry belt,
And I will bid my sylphs to sing

The song that makes the dew-mist melt;
Their harps are of the umber shade
That hides the blush of waking day,
And every gleamy string is made

Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray;
And thou shalt pillow on my breast,
While heavenly breathings float around
And, with the sylphs of ether blest,
Forget the joys of fairy ground."
She was lovely and fair to see,
And the elfin's heart beat fitfully;

But lovelier still, and still more fair,
The earthly form imprinted there;
Naught he saw in the heavens above
Was half so dear as his mortal love;
For he thought upon her look so meek,
And he thought of the light flush on her cheek.
Never again might he bask and lie

On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye;
But in his dreams her form to see,
To clasp her in his revery,
To think upon his virgin bride,

Was worth all heaven, and earth beside.

"Lady," he cried, "I have sworn to-night,
On the word of a fairy knight,
To do my sentence-task aright;
My honor scarce is free from stain;
I may not soil its snows again;
Betide me weal, betide me woe,
Its mandate must be answered now."

Her bosom heaved with many a sigh,
The tear was in her drooping eye;
But she led him to the palace-gate,

And called the sylphs who hovered there
And bade them fly and bring him straight
Of clouds condensed a sable car.
With charm and spell she blessed it there,
From all the fiends of upper air,
Then round him cast the shadowy shroud,
And tied his steed behind the cloud,
And pressed his hand as she bade him fly
Far to the verge of the northern sky;
For, by its wan and wavering light,
There was a star would fall to-night.

Borne afar on the wings of the blast,
Northward away he speeds him fast,
And his courser follows the cloudy wain
Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain.
The clouds roll backward as he flies,
Each flickering star behind him lies,
And he has reached the northern plain,
And backed his fire-fly steed again,
Ready to follow in its flight
The streaming of the rocket-light.
The star is yet in the vault of heaven,
But it rocks in the summer gale;
And now 'tis fitful and uneven,
And now,
'tis deadly pale;
And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke,
And quenched is its rayless beam,
And now with a rattling thunder-stroke

Ouphe and Goblin! Imp and Sprite!
Elf of Eve! and starry Fay!
Ye that love the moon's soft light,
Hither, hither, wing your way.
Twine ye in a jocund ring,

Sing and trip it merrily,

Hand to hand, and wing to wing,
Round the wild, witch-hazel tree.
Hail the wanderer again

With dance and song, and lute and lyre; Pure his wing and strong his chain,

And doubly bright his fairy fire. Twine ye in an airy round,

Brush the dew and print the lea; Skip and gambol, hop and bound

Round the wild witch-hazel tree. The beetle guards our holy ground, He flies about the haunted place, And if mortal there be found,

He hums in his ears and flaps his face; The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay,

The owlet's eyes our lanterns be; Thus we sing, and dance and play, Round the wild witch-hazel tree.

But hark! from tower on tree-top high
The sentry-elf his call has made;

A streak is in the eastern sky,

Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade! The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring, The sky-lark shakes his dabbled wing, The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, The cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for madness ruled the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid,
And back recoiled, he knew not why,

E'en at the sound himself had made.
Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire,

In lightnings owned his secret stings; In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings.

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state!

Of differing themes the varying song was mixed,

And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
Pale Melancholy sat retired;
And, from her wild, sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive
soul.

And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,

Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing,

In hollow murmurs died away.

But Oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest

hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crowned sisters, and their chastened

queen,

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their valleys green; Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,

bound;

And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.

O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, goddess, why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As, in that loved Athenian bower,
You learned an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O nymph endeared,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that godlike age
Fill thy recording sister's page;
"Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
Even all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of sound.
Oh bid our vain endeavors cease!
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state,
Confirm the tale her sons relate.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

THE PROGRESS OF POESY.

(A Pindaric Ode.)

WAKE, Æolian lyre, awake,

Has curbed the fury of his car,

And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command.

Perching on the sceptered hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king
With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing;
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightning of his
eye.

Thee, the voice, the dance, obey,
Tempered to thy warbled lay;

O'er Idalia's velvet-green,

The rosy-crowned loves are seen
On Cytherea's day;

With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures,
Frisking light in frolic measures;

Now pursuing, now retreating,

Now in circling troops they meet; To brisk notes in cadence beating

Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare;

Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay; With arms sublime that float upon the air,

In gliding state she wins her easy way; O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple ligh: of Love.

From Helicon's harmonious springs

A thousand rills their mazy progress take;
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow;
Now the rich stream of music winds along,
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong,
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden
reign;

Now rolling down the steep amain,
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour!
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the

roar.

O sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control;

And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse!
Night, and all her sickly dews,

Her specters wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky,
Till down the eastern cliffs afar
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering
shafts of war.

In climes beyond the solar road,

Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,

The Muse has broke the twilight gloom,
To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the odorous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,
In loose numbers wildly sweet,