Her whip-of cricket's bone; the lash-of film ; Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not half fo big as a round little worm, Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner fquirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this ftate fhe gallops, night by night, Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'fies ftrait : O'er lawyers' fingers, who ftraight dream on fees: O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Sometimes fhe gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit; And fometimes comes fhe with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck, And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes; And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two, And fleeps again..
DO remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks; Sharp Mifery had worn him to the bones : And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-fhap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes, Were thinly scatter'd to make up a fhew. Noting this penury, to myself I faid, An' if a man did need a poison now, Whofe fale is prefent death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff-wretch would fell it him. Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need! And this fame needy man muft fell it me-
As I remember, this fhould be the house.
ODE TO EVENING.
IF aught of oaten ftop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modest ear, Like thy own folmn fprings,
Thy fprings, and dying gales,
O Nymph referv'd! while now the bright-hair'd Sun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed:
Now air is hush'd, fave where the weak-eyed bat, With fhort fhrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing.
Or where the beetle winds
His fmall but fullen horn,
As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim born in heedless hum,
Now teach me, maid compos'd,
To breathe fome foftened ftrain,
Whofe numbers ftealing through thy dark ning vale, May not unfeemly with its ftillness fuit,
As mufing flow, I hail
Thy genial, lov'd return!
For when thy folding ftar arifing fhews His paly circlet, as his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who flept in flow'rs the day,
many a Nymph who wreathes her brow with fedge, And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lov❜lier ftill, The penfive Pleasures fweet Prepare thy fhadowy car,
Then lead, calm Vot'ress, where fome sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallowed pile, up- -land fallows grey
Reflect its last cold gleam.
But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain, Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, That from the mountain's fide,
Views wilds and fwelling floods,'
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires, And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dufky veil.
While Spring fhall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light:
While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy fhrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
So long, fure-found beneath the fylvan fhade, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rofe-lip'd Health, Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!
ODE TO SPRING.
SWEET daughter of a rough and ftormy fire,
Hoar Winter's blooming child: delightful spring! Whose unfhorn locks with leaves And fwelling buds are crown'd
From the green islands of eternal youth, (Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever-fpringing fhade} Turn, hither turn thy step,
O thou whofe powerful voice
More fweet than fofteft touch of Doric reed, Or Lydian flute, can footh the madding winds,
And thro' the ftormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.
Thee, beft belov'd! the virgin train await, With fongs and festal rites, and joy to rove P 2
With untir'd feet; and cull thy earliest sweets To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow Of him the favour'd youth
That prompts their whisper'd figh.
Unlock thy copious ftores; thofe tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds, And filent dews that fwell
The milky car's green stem,
And feed the flow'ring ofier's early shoots; And call thofe winds which thro' the whifp'ring boughs. With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.
Now let me fit beneath the whitening thorn And mark thy fpreading tints fteal o'er the dale; And watch with patient eye
Thy fair unfolding charms.
O Nymph, approach! while yet the temperate fun With bafhful forehead, thro' the cool moift air Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chafte kiffes woos
The earth's fair bofom; while the ftreaming veil Of lucid clouds with kind and frequent shade
Protects thy modest blooms
From his feverer blaze,
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