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Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change, Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.

So when I am in a voluptuous rein,

I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,

And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

Adieu! valiant Eric! with joy thou art crowned,
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,

I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to soothe.

TO

Hadst thou lived in days of old,
O what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
And thy humid eyes, that dance
In the midst of their own brightness,
In the very fane of lightness;
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning:
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like the streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from the crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Of thy dark hair, that extends
Into many graceful bends:
As the leaves of hellebore
Turn to whence they sprung before.
And behind each ample curl
Peeps the richness of a pearl.
Downward too flows many a tress
With B glossy waviness,

Full, and round like globes that rise

From the censer to the skies

Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness

Of thy honied voice; the neatness

Of thine ancle lightly turn'd:

With those beauties scarce discern'd,

Kept with such sweet privacy,

That they seldom meet the eye

Of the little Loves that fly

Round about with eager pry.

Saving when with freshening lave,

Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;

Like twin water-lilies, born

In the coolness of the morn.

O, if thou hadst breathed then,

Now the Muses had been ten.

Couldst thou wish for lineage higher

Than twin-sister of Thalia?

At least for ever, evermore

Will I call the Graces four.

Hadst thou lived when chivalry

Lifted up her lance on high,

Tell me what thou wouldst have been?

Ah! I see the silver sheen

Of thy broider'd-floating vest

Covering half thine ivory breast:

Which, O Heavens! I should see,

But that cruel Destiny

Has placed a golden cuirass there,

Keeping secret what is fair.

Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested,

Thy locks in knightly casque are rested:

O'er which bend four milky plumes,

Like the gentle lily's blooms

Springing from a costly vase.

See with what a stately pace

Comes thine alabaster steed;

Servant of heroic deed!

O'er his loins, his trappings glow

Like the northern lights on snow.
Mount his back! thy sword unsheathe !
Sign of the enchanter's death;
Bane of every wicked spell;
Silencer of dragon's yell.
Alas! thou this wilt never do:
Thou art an enchantress too,
And wilt surely never spill
Blood of those whose eyes can kill.

TO HOPE.

When by my solitary hearth I sit,

And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my " mind's eye " flit,

And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,

Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart

When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:

Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,

And fright him, as the morning frightens night!

Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,

O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:

Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,

From cruel parents, or relentless fair, O let me think it is not quite in vain

To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.

In the long vista of the years to roll,

Let me not see our country's honour fade!

O let me see our land retain her soul!

Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.

From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed—

Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
Great liberty! how great in plain attire!

With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:

But let me see thee stoop from Heaven on wings

That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star

Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar:

So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.

February, 1815.

S IMITATION OF SPENSER.

Now morning from her orient chamber came
And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill:
Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,
Silvering the untainted gushes of its rill;
Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,
And after parting beds of simple flowers,
By many streams a little lake did fill,
Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
Vying with fish of brilliant dye below;
Whose silken fins' and golden scales' light
Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:
There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
And oar'd himself along with majesty:
Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show
Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
That in that fairest lake had placed been,
I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;
Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:
For sure so fair a place was never seen
Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:
It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen
Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cerulean sky.

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously
Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,

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