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When Evening's dusky car,
Crown'd with her dewy star,
Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;
On leaves of aspen trees
We tremble to the breeze,
Veild 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 ;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle nest;
Or, guide of soul-subduing power,
Th' electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
Or thro' the mystic ringlets of the vale We flash our fairy feet in gamesome prank ; Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court
Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,
Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport,
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;
Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam,
By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream,
Or where his wave with loud unquiet song,
Dash'd o'er the rocky channel, froths along;
Or where his silver waters smooth'd to rest,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
Hence! thou lingerer Light!
Eve saddens into Night. -
Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view
The sombre hours, that round thee stand,
With down-cast 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 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.
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
Graceful Ease in artless stole,
And white-rob’d Purity of soul,
With Honour s softer mien :
Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek ey'd Pity eloquently fair,
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,
As snow-drop wet with dew.
Unboastful Maid! tho' now the Lily pale
Transparent grace thy beauties meek ; Yet ere again along th' impurpling vale, The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove,
Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,
We'll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek; And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose
Extract a blush for Love!
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 seiz'd th’unguarded Power,
Nor scar’d his balmy rest ;
And plac'd him, cag’d within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the pris’ner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile
And stamp'd his fairy feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued th’impatient boy!
He gaz'd! he thrill'd with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.
And oh! he cried—“ Of magic kind
What charms this Throne endear! Some other Love let Venus find
I'll fix my empire here.”
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 ?
Yon viewless Wand'rer 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 th' uninjur'd 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 !
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The Triumphs of the op'ning Rose :
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleas'd 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.
ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.
Poor little 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 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 scarcly seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting Green!
Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to shew
Pity-best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me, that he lives, like thee,
Half-famish'd in a land of Luxury!