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Is this the land of song-ennobled line?

But that Despair and Indignation rose, Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain And told again the story of thy woes ; Pour'd forth his lofty strain ?

Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart; Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, The dread dependence on the low-born mind; Beneath chill Disappointment's shade

Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart, His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid.

Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! And o'er her darling dead

Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Pity hopeless hurg her head,

Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing While “ 'mid the pelting of that merciless storm,"

vein! ank to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!

Ye woods ! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, Sublime of thought, and confident of fame, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep! From vales where Avon winds, the Minstrel* came. For here she loves the cypress wreath to weave,

Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along, Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve
He meditates the future song,

Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacian foe; In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove, And while the numbers Rowing strong

Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide
In eddies whirl, in surges throng,

Lone-glittering, through the high tree branching wide Exulting in the spirits' genial throe,

And here, in Inspiration's eager hour, In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow.

When most the big soul feels the mastering power,

These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,

Round which the screaming sea-gul's soar, And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame,

With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, His eyes have glorious meanings, that declare

Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: More than the light of outward day shines there,

Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow A holier triumph and a sterner aim!

Would pause abrupt—and gaze upon the waves Wings grow within him; and he soars above

below. Or Bard's, or Minstrel's lay of war or love. Friend to the friendless, to the Sufferer health, He hears the widow's prayer, the good man's praise ; Who would have praised and loved thee, ere to

Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth,

late. And young and old shall now see happy days.

Poor Chatterton! farewell ! of darkest hues
On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes;

This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb;
And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel,

But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.

Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom:
For oh! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing.

Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring ; Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child! And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart That didst so fair disclose thy early bloom,

The last pale Hope that shiver'd at my heart!
Filling the wide air with a rich perfume !
For thee in vain all heavenly aspects smiled;

Hence, gloomy thoughts ! no more my soul shai From the hard world brief respite could they win

dwell The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey'd |On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh within!

The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Ah! where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
And Joy's wild gleams that lighten'd o'er thy face? Sublime of Hope I seek the cottaged dell

,

Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye!

Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps, I view,

And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay, On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew,

The wizard Passions weave a holy spell! And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh!

O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive! Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,

Sure thou wouldst spread the canvas to the gale When Care, of wither'd brow,

And love with us the tinkling team to drive Prepar'd the poison's death-cold power.

O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale ; Already to thy lips was raised the bowl,

And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng, When near thee stood Affection meek

Hanging, enraptured, on thy stately song !
(Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek,) And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll

All destly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity.
On scenes that well might melt thy soul;
Thy native cot she flash d upon thy view,
C'hy native cot, where still, at close of day,

Alas vain Phantasies' the fleeting brood - cace smiling sate, and listen’d to thy lay ;

Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood ! Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,

Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, And inark thy Mother's thrilling tear;

Where Susquehannah pours his untamed strean
See, see her breast's convulsive throe,

And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
Her silent agony of woe!

Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tido
Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand!

Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, And thou hadst dash'd it, at her soft command,

Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!

And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful will • Avon, a river near Bristol; the birth-place of Chatterton. Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.

O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed,
And twine vur faery garlands round his head.

SONGS OF THE PIXIES.

V. The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of

When Evening's dusky car, beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a

Crown'd with her 'dewy star, small distance from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation called the Pixies' Parlor. Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight The roots of old trees form its ceiling ; and on its sides are

On leaves of aspen trees innumerable ciphers, among which the author discovered his

We tremble to the breeze, own cipher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their Veil'd from the grosser ken of mortal sight childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies,

Or, haply, at the visionary hour, during the Summer months of the year 1793 ; one of whom, Along our wildly-bower'd sequester'd walk, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colorless yet We listen to the enamour'd rustic's talk; clear

, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, the following irregular Ode was written.

Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtlo

nest;

Or guide of soul-subduing power
I.

The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Whom the untaught Shepherds call

Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
Pixies in their madrigal,
Fancy's children, here we dwell :

VI.
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.
Here the wren of softest note

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
Builds its nest and warbles well;

We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank, Here the blackbird strains his throat;

Or, silent-sandall'd, pay our dester court
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,

Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport II.

Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;

Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam When fades the moon all shadowy-pale,

By lonely Oiter's sleep-persuading stream; And scuds the cloud before the gale,

Or where his waves with loud unquiet song Ere Morn with living gems bedight

Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froth along Purples the East with streaky light,

Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews

The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
Clad in robes of rainbow hues :
Or sport amid the rosy gleam,
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,

VII.
While lusty Labor scouting sorrow

Hence, thou lingerer, Light! Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,

Eve saddens into Night. Who jogs the accustom'd road along,

Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view And paces cheery to her cheering song.

The sombre hours, that round thee stand

With downcast eyes (a duteous band!)
III.

Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew
But not our filmy pinion

Sorceress of the ebon throne !
We scorch amid the blaze of day,

Thy power the Pixies own,
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion

When round thy raven brow
Flashes the fervid ray.

Heaven's lucent roses glow,
Aye from the sultry heat

And clouds, in watery colors drest,
We to the cave retreat

Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest :
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined

What time the pale moon sheds a soster day, With wildest texture, blecken'd o'er with age :

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

For 'mid the quivering light 't is ours to play,
Beneath whose foliage pale,

Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
Fann'd by the unfrequent gale,
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rago.

VIII.

Welcome, Ladies ! to the cell
IV.

Where the blameless Pixies dwell:
Thither, while the murmuring throng But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Faery
of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,

Queen,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,

With what obeisance meet
A youthful Bard, “ unknown to Fame,”

Thy presence shall we greet?
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh,

Graceful Ease in artless stole,
Gazing with tearful eye,

And white-robed Purity of soul,
As round our sandy grot appear

With Honor's softer mien;
Many a rudely-sculptured name

Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
To pensive Memory dear!

And meek-eyed Pity eloquentiy fair,
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue, Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view
We glance before his view:

As snow-drop wet with dew.

LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

IX.
Pinboastful maid! though now the Lily pale

ABSENCE.
Transparent grace thy beauties meek;

A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS Yet ere again along the empurpling vale,

COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws, WHERE graced with many a classic spoil We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;

Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
And haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

I haste to urge the learned toil
Extract a blush for love!

That sternly chides my lovelorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Illumed by Passion's orient rays,

When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
THE RAVEN.

Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS

Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole (XDERNEATH a huge oak tree

While Innocence stood smiling by There was, of swine, a huge company,

But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan : That grunted as they crunch'd the mast :

Those hours on rapid pinions flown
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Shall yet return, by Absence crown'd
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : And scatter lovelier roses round.
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a raven, that liked not such folly:

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
Ile belong'd, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! On heedless eyes may pour the day:
Blacker was he than blackest jet,

The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.

Endears her renovated ray. Hle pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight

What though she leaves the sky unblest
By the side of a river both deep and great.

To mourn awhile in murky vest?
Where then did the Raven go?

When she relumes her lovely light,
He went high and low,

We bless the wanderer of the night.
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.

Many Autumns, many Springs
Travell’d he with wandering wings :
Many Summers, many Winters-

LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
I can't tell half his adventures.

O THOU, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a She, Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. Nor there with happy spirits 'speed thy flight They built them a nest in the topmost bough, Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow. Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, But soon came a woodman in leathern guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes. Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, He'd on ax in his hand, not a word he spoke, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling At length he brought down the poor Raven's own Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring, oak.

When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim His young ones were kill'd; for they could not

bower depart,

She leap'd, awaken'd by the pattering shower. And their mother did die of a broken heart. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,

Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy poet's dream!
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever; With fairy wand O bid the Maid arise,
And they floated it down on the course of the river. Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes,
They saw'd it in planks, and its bark they did strip, As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
And with this tree and others they made a good ship. I came, with Learning's meed not unbestow'd ;
l'he ship it was launch'd; but in sight of the land When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could with- And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow,
stand.

O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrillid heart,
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast: And every nerve confess'd th' electric dari.
The old Raven fiew round and round, and caw'd to
the blast.

O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes! He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls--- When first the lark, high soaring, swells his throat See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls ! Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the wild note,

Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, I trace her footsteps on the acc stom'd lawn, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, I mark her glancing 'mid the gleam of dawn. And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weep

They had taken his all, and Revenge was sweet! And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!

No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the attuned heart-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wings your vales ainong
Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave,
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze,
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze,
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend

THE ROSE.

Spirits ! to you the infant Maid was given,
Form'd by the wondrous alchemy of heaven!
No fairer maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye ;
Love lights her smile—in Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, Fancy! still that yoice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the soften'd echoes of Heaven's halls!

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, beneath
Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest;
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.

O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbor I would seem,
To shield my Love from noontide's sultry beam:
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight :
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes !

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrill’d with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.

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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 ?

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her tears;
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceusing feeds the lambent flame of joy!

Yon viewless Wanderer 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 the uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor 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 !

From the pomp of sceptred state,
From the rebel’s noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells'
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honor's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And, conscious of the past employ,
Memory, bosom-spring of joy

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose ;
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased 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.

THE SIGH

TO A YOUNG ASS.

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
! love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
Ind clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
Chat never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
Chat earth ward 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 thrill'd 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
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

When Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled ;
Then, Mary! ’mid my lightsome glee
I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And when,ralong the waves of woe,
My harass'd heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwreck'd on life's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee'
But soon reflection's power impress'd
A stiller sadness on my breast ;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys that were !
Thy Image may not banish'd be-

Sull, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
June, 1794.

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity—best taught by fellowship of woe!

EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half farish'd in a land of luxury !

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?

Death came with friendly care ; It seems to say, “ And have I then one friend ?”

The opening bud to Heaven convey'd, Innocent Foal! thou poor despised forlorn!

And bade it blossom there. I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn! And fain would take thee with me, in the dell Of peace and mild equality to dwell, Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!

ROSS. Tow thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THS “MAN OF ROSS." And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet te me

RICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,

Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest

Here dwelt the man of Ross! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,
With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth ;

He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer of
DOMESTIC PEACE.

praise,

He mark'd the shelter'd orphan's tearful gaze, TELL me, on what holy ground

Or where the sorrow-shrivell'd captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?

Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Halcyon Daughter of the skies,

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies,

Fill to the good man's name one grateful glass

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