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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 smarl, 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! unk 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
Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacian foe;
In solemn thought the Minstrel wont to rove,
Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide
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 fame,
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
Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate
Who would have praised and loved thee, ere to
late. And young and old shall now see happy days.
Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues
This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tornb;
But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom:
Have blacken'd the far promise of my spring ;
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,
Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
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 ! (ller bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek,)
And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy
All deftly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity.
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 mark thy Mother's thrilling tear;
Where Susquehannah pours his untamed strean
And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tido
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 wiiul • 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,
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. Ata
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 turilo
Or guide of soul-subduing power 1.
The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank, Here the blackbird strains his throat;
Or, silent-sandall'd, pay our desier court
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,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
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!)
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew
Sorceress of the ebon throne!
Thy power the Pixies own,
When round thy raven brow
Heaven's lucent roses glow,
And clouds, in watery colors drest,
Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest:
What time the pale moon sheds a soster day, With wildest texture, blocken'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,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
Welcome, Ladies! to the cell
Where the blameless Pixies dwell:
With what obeisance meet
Thy presence shall we greet?
Graceful Ease in artless stole,
And white-robed Purity of soul,
With Honor's softer mien;
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek-eyed Pity eloquentiv fair,
As snow-drop wet with dew.
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS Yet ere again along the empurpling vale,
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my lovelorn song:
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Ilealth
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
The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
Endears her renovated ray. He pick'd up the acorn and buried it straight
What though she leaves the sky unblest
To mourn awhile in murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely light,
We bless the wanderer of the night.
Many Autumns, many Springs
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
O THOU, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At lengih 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, Bui soon came a woodınan in leathern guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! His brow, like a peni-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 IIis young ones were kill'd; for they could not
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 ihy poet's dream!
O'er all niy frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes! Fle heard the last shriek of the perishing souls--- When first the lark, hugh 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 istom'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,
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Spirits ! to you the infant Maid was given,
As late each flower that sweetest blows
Around his brows a beamy wreath
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
O (have I sighd) were mine the wizard's rod,
But when unweeting of the guile
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
“ And O! he cried—“ Of magic kind What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find -I'll fix my empire here.”
So toss'd by storms along Life's wildering way,
ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'd
Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
And He the glitter of the Dew
From the pomp of sceptred state,
Too well those lovely lips disclose
TO A YOUNG ASS.
WHEN Youth his faery reign began
Sull, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
EPITAPH ON AN INFANT.
ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
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 THE “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,
He hears the widow's heaven-breath'd prayer ol
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