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Yes, here your gloomy reign
Ends, O long-cherish'd train
For me Ianthe wreaths
A myrtle crown, and breathes (prayers. Soft rapturous sighs, fond vows, and tenderest
She, she, divinest maid,
Blooms, in such charms array'd
Her accents might beguile
Despair; her look, her smile
But not her smiles alone,
Her voice of melting tone, Nor bloom, nor grace my willing heart control;
For in her form enshrined
Resides the radiant mind That crowns, illumes, and animates the whole.
By her beloved, new born
Am I to bliss; the morn More sweet appears, more blue the' expanse above;
More mild the passing gale,
More verdant seems the vale,
Now, to my unfilm'd sight,
O sun! thy golden light,
Once more I feel is dear,
Once more my breast can cheer, And ardent hopes and thoughts sublime inspire.
Dian, more fair meseems
Thou art than when thy beams Saw me retreat in solitude to pine;
And ye, aye burning stars,
That guide your emerald cars Mid boundless space, with nobler lustre shine.
Now, joyous as I rové,
Each cool and whispering grove, Not less to bliss than to 'pale passion' dear,
Shall bid its feather'd throng
Awake a sprightlier song,
Nor thou, my lyre, that oft,
In numbers sweetly soft,
Now, while his heart beats high
With ecstasy, shalt lie
Now, from thy vocal wires,
While love, while beauty fires,
No strains of mournful fall
My rapid hand shall call,
Yes, glowing be the song !
Such raptures well belong To him who sings the bless’d Ianthe's praise :
And lo! more mildly bright
Than Hesper's beamy light She comes, the queen, the glory of my lays.
She comes ! ye zephyrs bland,
Your purple plumes expand ; Ye blooming flowers, your balmy breath diffuse;
Ye birds, with warbled air,
Salute the peerless fair,
R. A. DAVENPORT.
Though oft in hours of grief and pain,
Thy gentle slumbers, strength-restoring,
Yet, once again thy aid imploring,
pour to thee, O Sleep, the strain.
Awhile this breast in anguish sighing :
My woes, such feeble force defying,
Thy downy pinions lightly spreading,
But, all thy balmy influence shedding,
The soul from earthly thoughts relieving,
Sweetly her charmed sense deceiving,
R. A. DAVENPORT.
Fired by the taper glimmering near,
And wreaths of triumph grace thy brow.
Where into rage the wintry blast
Foundering within the black abyss :
My bark the tide of young desire,
And blast of chill indifference save!
Nor Danger's horrid front appals ;
There Love's impassion'd song I'll pour,