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

SONGS OF THE PIXIES.

VI.

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 bill, is an excavation called the Pixies' Parlor. Steals o'er

the fading sky in shadowy fught 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 Veild 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; c!ear, 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 turtle

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 :

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-sandalld, pay our defter 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 Otter'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 resi,
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 softer day, With wildest texture, blacken'd o'er with age :

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beain : 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 rage.

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

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But cease,

A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul
LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole ['NDERNEATH a huge oak tree

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

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 acom they left, and no more might you spy.
Neit came a raven, that liked not such folly :

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
He 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. He 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
Travelld 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 an 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 power that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring oak.

When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trin, 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 ;
The ship it was launchd ; 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 thrill'd heart,
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast : And every nerve confess'd th' electric dart.
The old Raven flew 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 thront
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 accustom'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 anong
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 voice, 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.

And O! he cried—“ Of magic kind What charm this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find I'll fix my empire here."

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :-
So toss'd by storms along Life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.

THE KISS.

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,
linceasing 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 closo
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 flingi

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 sofi-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 liule foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the 'glade ?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward suill 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 palient 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, along 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 lise's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
But soon reflection's power impressid
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-

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

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

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

ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly ils 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. How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF TILS“ MAN OF ROSS. And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay! Yea! and more musically sweet to 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 is thy cheer'd moments pass, Far on fearful wings she flies.

! Fill to the good mun s name one grateful glass

To higher zest shall Memory wake thy soul, Remorse, the poison'd arrow in his side,
And Virtue mingle in the ennobled bowl.

And loud lewd Mirth, to anguish close allied :
But if, like me, through life's distressful scene, Till Frenzy, fierce-eyed child of moping pain,
Lonely and sad, thy pilgrimage hath been; Darts her hot lightning flash athwart the brain.
And if thy breast with heart-sick anguish fraught, Rest, injured shade! Shall Slander squatting near
Thou journeyest unward tempest-toss'd in thought; Spit her cold venom in a dead Man's ear?
Here cheat thy cares! in generous visions melt, "Twas thine to feel the sympathetic glow
And dream of goodness, thou hast never felt! In Merit's joy, and Poverty's meek woe,

Thine all that cheer the moment as it flies,
The zoneless Cares, and smiling Courtesies.
Nursed in thy heart the firmer Virtues grew,

And in thy heart they wither'd! Such chill dew LINES TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A

Wan indolence on each young blossom shed;
VILLAGE.

And Vanity her filmy net-work spread,

With eye that rollid around, in asking gaze, ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wander. And tongue that traffick'd in the trade of praise. ing near,

Thy follies such! the hard world mark d them well I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.

Were they more wise, the proud who never fell? Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours

Rest, injur'd shade! the poor man's grateful prayer With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers

On heavenward wing thy wounded soul shall bear (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn) As oft at twilight gloom thy grave I pass, My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn. And sit me down upon its recent grass, For not through pathless grove with murmur rude With introverted eye I contemplate Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude ; Similitude of soul, perhaps of-Fate! Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, To me hath Heaven with bounteous hand assign'd The Hermit-fountain of some dripping cell! Energic Reason and a shaping mind, Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The daring ken of Truth, the Patriot's part, The scatter'd cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. And Pity's sigh, that breathes the gentle heart. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks

Sloth-jaundic'd all! and from my graspless hand With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Drop Friendshi-'s precious pearls, like hour-glass Released from school, their little hearts at rest,

sand. Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast.

I weep, yet stoop not! the faint anguish flows,
The rustic here at eve with pensive look

A dreamy pang in Morning's feverish doze.
Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook,
Or, starting, pauses with hope-mingled dread

Is this piled earth our being's passless mound:
To list the much-loved maid's accustom'd tread :

Tell me, cold grave! is Death with poppies crown'd She, vainly mindful of her dame's command,

Tired sentinel! 'mid fitful starts I nod, Loiters, the long-fill'd pitcher in her hand.

And fain would sleep, though pillow'd on a clod! Unboastful Stream! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast.

TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A POEM ON Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon,

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon :
Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along ! Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell,

Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale,
I heard of guilt and wonder'd at the tale!
Yet though the hours flew by on careless wing,

Full heavily of Sorrow would I sing.
LINES ON A FRIEND,

Aye as the star of evening fung its beam

In broken radiance on the wavy stream, WHO DIED OF A FRENZY FEVER INDUCED BY CALUM. My soul amid the pensive twilight glooin

Mourn'd with the breeze, O Lee Boo!* o'er thy tomb

Where'er I wanderd Pity still was near, EDMUND! thy grave with aching eye I scan, Breathed from the heart and glisten’d in the tear And inly groan for Heaven's poor outcast-Man!

No knell that wild, but fill'd my anxious eye, 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in early youth,

And suffering Nature wept that one should die! If gifted with the Ithuriel lance of Truth, We force to start amid her feign'd caress

Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Vice, siren-hag! in native ugliness ;

Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West: A brother's fate will haply rouse the tear,

When slumbering Freedom roused with high disdain And on we go in heaviness and fear! But if our fond hearts call to Pleasure's bower

With giant fury burst her triple chain! Some pigmy Foy in a careless hour, The faithless guest shall stamp the enchanted ground Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew IslAnd mingled forms of Misery rise around:

ande, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the lleart-fretting Fear, with pallid look aghast,

small-pox, and is buried in Greenwich church-yard. See Reale's

Account. That courts the future woe to hide the past;

Southey's Retrospect.

NIOUS REPORTS.

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