Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shall dwell O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive! Sure thou would'st spread the canvass to the gale, And we, Alas vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood SONGS OF THE PIXIES. THE Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this place the author conducted a party of young ladies, during the summer months of the year 1793, one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen, on which occasion, and at which time, the following irregular ode was written. I. WHOм the untaught Shepherds call Pixies in their madrigal, Fancy's children, here we dwell: Welcome, Ladies! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note Builds it's nest and warbles well; II. When fades the moon all shadowy pale, Richer than the deepen'd bloom That glows on Summer's scented plume: Sooth'd by the distant tinkling team, While lusty Labour scouting sorrow III. But not our filmy pinion We scorch, amid the blaze of day, When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion Flashes the fervid ray. Aye, from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat. 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. IV. Thither, while the murm'ring throng As round our sandy grot appear 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. C V. When Evening's dusky car, Crown'd with her dewy star, Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight; We tremble to the breeze, Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal sight. Or, haply, at the visionary hour, Along our wild sequestred walk, We listen to th' enamour'd rustic's talk; Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye VI. Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale, VII. Hence! thou lingerer Light! Eve saddens into Night. Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view The sombre hours, that round thee stand, Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. Thy power the Pixies own, And clouds, in watry 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. VIII. Welcome, Ladies! to the cell, Where the blameless Pixies dwell. But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Fairy Queen, With what obeisance meet Thy presence shall we greet? For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen With Honour s softer mien: Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair, And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair, As snow-drop wet with dew. IX. Unboastful Maid! tho' now the Lily pale |