Ah such is HOPE! as changeful and as fair!
Now dimly peering on the wistful sight;
Now hid behind the dragon-winged Despair:
But soon emerging in her radiant might
She o'er the sorrow-clouded breast of Care
Sails, like a meteor kindling in its flight.
TIME, REAL AND IMAGINARY.
ON the wide level of a mountain's head,
(I knew not where, but 'twas some faery place)
Their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread,
Two lovely children run an endless race,
A sister and a brother!
This far outstript the other;
Yet ever runs she with reverted face,
And looks and listens for the boy behind :
For he, alas! is blind!
O'er rough and smooth with even step he passed,
And knows not whether he be first or last.
The PIXIES, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance from a village in that county, half way up a wood-covered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.
To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: on which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.
WHOM the untaught Shepherds call
PIXIES in their madrigal,
Fancy's children, here we dwell :
Welcome, LADIES! to our cell.
Here the wren of softest note
Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat :
Welcome, LADIES! to our cell.
When fades the moon all shadowy-pale
And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Ere Morn with living gems bedight
Purples the East with streaky light,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews
Clad in robes of rainbow hues
Richer than the deepened bloom
That glows on Summer's lily-scented plume:
Or sport amid the rosy gleam
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,
While lusty Labour scouting sorrow
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,
Who jogs the accustomed road along,
And paces cheery to her cheering song.
But not our filmy pinion
We scorch amid the blaze of day,
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion
Flashes the fervid ray.
Aye from the sultry heat
We to the cave retreat
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined
With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age: Round them their mantle green the ivies bind, Beneath whose foliage pale
Fanned by the unfrequent gale
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.
Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,
A youthful BARD, "unknown to Fame,"
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought,
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh
Gazing with tearful eye,
As round our sandy grot appear
Many a rudely sculptured name
To pensive Memory dear!
Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue
We glance before his view :
O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed,
And twine our faery garlands round his head.
When EVENING's dusky car
Crowned with her dewy star
Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;
On leaves of aspen trees
We tremble to the breeze
Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.
Or, haply, at the visionary hour,
Along our wildly-bowered, sequestered walk,
We listen to the enamoured 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
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;
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
Dashed o'er the rocky channel froth along;
Or where, his silver waters smoothed 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 watery 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 quivering light 'tis our's to play,
Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
Welcome, LADIES! to the cell
Where the blameless PIXIES dwell:
But thou sweet Nymph! proclaimed our Faery 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-robed PURITY of soul,
With HONOUR's softer mien;
MIRTH of the loosely-flowing hair,
And meek eyed PITY eloquently fair,
Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view,
As snow-drop wet with dew.
Unboastful Maid! though now the LILY pale
Transparent grace thy beauties meek ;
Yet ere again along the 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!
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
UNDERNEATH a huge oak tree
There was, of swine, a huge company,
That grunted as they crunched the mast:
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high :
One acorn they left, and not more might you spy.
Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly:
He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!
Blacker was he than blackest jet,
Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.
He picked up the acorn and buried it straight
By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go?
He went high and low,
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.
Many Autumns, many Springs
Travelled he with wandering wings:
Many Summers, many Winters-
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a She,
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a woodman in leathern guise,
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes.
He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak,
His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,
And their mother did die of a broken heart.
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever;
And they floated it down on the course of the river.
They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip,
And with this tree and others they made a good ship.
The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand.
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast :
The old raven flew round and round, and cawed to the blast.
He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls-
See! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls!
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thanked him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all, and REVENGE WAS SWEET!
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS COLLEGE,
WHERE graced with many a classic spoil
CAM rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days
Illumed by PASSION'S orient rays,
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enriched me with the best of wealth.
Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul
On Memory's wing, like shadows fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
While Innocence stood smiling by!-
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan:
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned,
And scatter livelier roses round.
The SUN who ne'er remits his fires
On heedless eyes may pour the day :
The MOON, that oft from heaven retires,
Endears her renovated ray.
What though she leaves the sky unblest
To mourn awhile the murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely Light,
We BLESS the Wanderer of the Night.
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