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Long, long the drooping captive dwells
REV. J. WALTERS,
TO THE SPIRIT OF FRESHNESS.
O Thou, the daughter of the Vernal Dew,
The gentle Aura woo'd
Beside a dripping cave; There, midst the blush of roses, won the nymph To dalliance, as in sighs she whisper'd love;
There saw thee born, as May
Unclosed her laughing eye; Spirit of Freshness, hail! At this dim hour While, streak'd with recent gray, the dawn ap
Where sport thy humid steps, [pears,
Ambrosial essence, say?
Beneath the lively green
Of their full-shading leaves.
Nibbling, while stillness reigns,
Or dost thou hover o'er the hawthorn bloom,
His golden lids, and tunes
A soft preluding strain; Or art thou soaring mid the fleeced air To meet the dayspring, where the plume-wet lark
Pours sudden his shrill note
Beneath a dusky cloud?
From that deep central gloom,
Rests on the moon-tipp'd wood. Now, by a halo circled, sails along, As gleams with icicles his azure vest,
Now shivers on the trees,
And feebly sinks from sight. 'Tis cold! and lo! upon the whitening folds Of the dank mist that fills the hollow dell,
Chill Damp with drizzly locks
Glides in his lurid car, Where a lone fane o'er those broad rushes nods In slumberous torpor; save when fitting bat
Stirs the rank ivy brown
That clasps its oozing walls !
A form, half viewless, spreads
A flush purpureal round.
With vivid moisture glow,
The florets, opening, from their young cups dart
And now entranced I drink
And not a ryegrass trembles, but it gives
Its odours, but it breathes
Mild shadowy power! whilst now thy tresses,
bathed In primrose tints, the snowdrop's coldness shed
On skyblue hyacinths,
While flows to Zephyr thy transparent robe,
How short thy vestal reign
Yes! if thou mix the saffron hues that stream
Of yonder orb that hangs
Or if thou love, along the lucent sod,
With all the mingled beams
Fleet as the shadow from the breded heaven
Within the gelid gloom
There, as its ambient arch with airy sweep
Pursue the turf that floats
retreating to the breezy marge Of the pure stream, thy ruby fingers rear
The new-blown flowers that wake
To tinge its crystal tide:
That mid the crisped brook
Steeps its long-wreathed roots. While from the cave where first thine essence sprung,
[spars, Where the chaste Naiads ranged their glittering
Rills, trickling through the moss,
Purl o'er the pebbled floor. There sleep till eve; as now the tyrant heat Kindles, with rapid strides, the extensive lawn,
And e’en thy favourite haunt,
The verdurous oak, invades.
Though shrinking from the sun,
The sallow's stagnant shade. There sleep till eve; unless the spring-loved
showers, Pattering among the foliage, bid thee rise
To taste those transient blooms
That with the rainbow live.
There sleep till eve; when as thy parent Air
And midst the vermeil bower,
The dew thy feet impearls ;
Whilst a fine emerald hue
Till through the fragrance of his sweetbriar leaves
As peace descends, to hush
-RAPT in thought that bids thee rise
In rosy health and youthful bloom :
When thou, in blank uncertainty array'd,.
With iron-hearted deaf control
Oh, give my song, mysterious power,
While drizzling black clouds o'er him lour, Bent o'er his staff, with livid visage fell,