Around the glow-worm's glimmering bank, Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles
No Fairies run in fiery rank ;

Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve,
Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread,

Where through some western window the pale Moon
The violet's unprinted head.

Pours her long-level'd rule of streaming light;
But Fancy, from the thickets brown,

While sullen sacred silence reigns around,
The glades that wear a conscious frown,

Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow's
The forest oaks, that, pale and lone,

Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp, Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,

Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves Rough glens, and sullen water-falls,

of flaunting ivy, that with mantle green
Her bright ideal offspring calls.

Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread
So by some sage enchanter's spell,

Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old (As old Arabian fablers tell,)

The cloister'd brothers : through the gloomy void
Amid the solitary wild,

That far extends beneath their ample arch
Luxuriant gardens gaily smil'd :

As on I pace, religious horror wraps
From sapphire rocks the fountains stream'd, My soul in dread repose. But when the world
With golden fruit the branches beam'd ;

Is clad in Midnight's raven-color'd robe,
Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,

'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame
Or lightly tripp'd, or solemn stood ;

Of taper dim, shedding a livid glare
And oft, retreating from the view,

O'er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk
Betray'd, at distance, beauties new:

Along the glimm’ring walls; or ghostly shape,
While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers

At distance seen, invites with beck’ning hand
Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers. My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults
If bound on service new to go,

Nor undelightful is the solemn noon
The master of the magic show

of night, when haply wakeful from my couch His transitory charm withdrew,

I start: lo! all is motionless around !
Away th' illusive landscape flew :

Roars not the rushing wind; the sons of men
Dun clouds obscur'd the groves of gold,

And every benst, in mute oblivion lie;
Blue lighining smote the blooming mould: All nature's hush'd in silence and in sleep.
In visionary glory rear'd,

O then how fearful is it to reflect,
The gorgeous castle disappeard ;

That through the still globe's awful solitude,
And a bare heath's unfruitful plain

No being wakes but me! till stealing sleep
Usurp'd the wizard's proud domain.

My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
Nor then let dreams, of wanton folly born,
My senses lead through flow'ry paths of joy ;
But let the sacred genius of the night

Such mystic visions send, as Spenser saw,
THE

When through bewild'ring Fancy's magic maze,

To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
PLEASURES OF MELANCHOLY.

Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,

When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
Præcipe lugubres

All Heav'n in tumult, and the sera phim
Cantus, Melpomene!-

Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.

Let others love soft Summer's evening smiles,
Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,

As list'ning to the distant water-fall,
Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock

They mark the blushes of the streaky west; of Tenerifle; 'mid the tempestuous night,

I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
On which, in calmest meditation held,

Then, when the sullen shades of ev'ning close,
Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain Where through the room a blindly glimm'ringam
And drifting hail descend; or if the skies

The dying embers scatter, far remote (roof Unclouded shine, and through the blue serene From Mirth's mad shouts, that through th'illumin'd Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,

|Resound with festive echo, let me sit, Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge. Raptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct Then let my thought contemplative explore Of distant billows soothe thy pensive ear

This fleeting state of things, the vain delights,
With hoarse and hollow sounds ; secure, self-blest, The fruitless toils, that still our search elude,
There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar

As through the wilderness of life we rove.
Of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low

This sober hour of silence will unmask
Ascend the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st False Folly's smile, that like the dazzling spells
Remote from man conversing with the spheres! Of wily Comus cheat the unweeting eye
O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms With blear illusion, and persuade to drink
Congenial with my soul ; to cheerless shades, That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair
To ruin'd seats, to twilighi cells and bow'rs, Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man.
Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught
Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath
or purple Spring, where all the wanton train | Few know that elegance of soul refin'd,
of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy
In sportive round, while from their band they show'r From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride
Ambrosial blooms and flow'rs, no longer charm; of tasteless splendor and magnificence
Tempé, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind
Adieu, green vales! ye broider'd meads, adieu! Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love.

More genuine transports found, as on some tomb Ye youths of Albion's beauty-blooming isle.
Reclin'd, she watch'd the tapers of the dead ; Whose brows bare worn the wreath ofluckles lore,
Or through the pillar'd aisles, amid pale shrines Is there a pleasure like the pensive mood.
of imag'd saints, and intermingled graves,

Whose magic wont to soothe your soften'd souls! Mus'd a veil'd votaress; than Flavia feels,

O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt As through the mazes of the festive ball,

To Melody's assuasive voice; to bend Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty's blaze, Th' uncertain step along the midnight mead, She floats amid the silken sons of dress,

Aud pour your sorrows to the pitying Moon, And shines the fairest of th' assembled fair. | By many a slow trill from the bird of woe

When azure noontide cheers the dædal globe, of: interrupted ; in embow'ring woods And the blest regent of the golden day

By darksome brook to muse, and there forget Rejoices in his bright meridian tower,

The solemn dullness of the tedious world. How oft my wishes ask the night's return,

While Fancy grasps the visionary fair: That best befriends the melancholy mind!

And now no more th'abstracted ear attends Hail, sacred Night! thou too shalt share my song! The water's murm'ring lapse, th' entranced Eye Sister of ebon-sceptred Hecate, hail!

Pierces no longer through th' extended rows Whether in congregated clouds thou wrapp'st of thick-rang'd trees ; till haply from the depth Thy viewless chariot, or with silver crown

The woodman's stroke, or distant tinkling team, Thy beaming head encirclest, ever hail!

Or heifers rustling through the brake, alarmas What though beneath thy gloom the sorceress-strain, Th'illuded sense, and mars the golden dream Far in obscured baunt of Lapland moors,

These are delights that absence drear has made With rhymes uncouth the bloody caldron bless; Familiar to my soul, e'er since the form Though Murder wan beneath thy shrouding shade of young Sapphira, beauteous as the Spring, Summons her slow-ey'd vot'ries to devise

When from her vi'let-woven couch awak'd Of secret slaughter, while by one blue lamp

By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek In hideous conference sits the list'ning band, Graceful she lifts, and blushing from her box And start at each low wind, or wakeful sound: Issues to clothe in gladsome-glistering green What though thy stay the pilgrim curseth oft, The genial globe, first met my dazzled sight; As all benighted in Arabian wastes

These are delights unknown to minds profane, He hears the wilderness around him howl

And which alone the pensive soul can tasie. With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head The taper'd choir, at the late hour of prayil The black-descending tempest ceaseless beats; Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice Yet more delightful to my pensive mind

The many-sounding organ peals on high, Is thy return, than blooming Morn's approach, The clear slow-dittied chant, or varied hymo, Ev'n than, in youthful pride of opening May, Till all my soul is bathed in ecstasies, When from the portals of the saffron east

And lapp'd in paradise. Or let me sit She sheds fresh roses, and ambrosial dews.

Far in sequester'd aisles of the deep dome, Yet not ungrateful is the Morn's approach, There lonesome listen to the sacred sounds, When dropping wet she comes, and clad in clouds, Which, as they lengthen through the Gothic fann While through the damp air scowls the lowering In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear. South,

Nor when the lamps expiring yield to nigbt. Blackening the landscape's face, that grove and hill And solitude returns, would I forsake In formless vapors undistinguish'd swim :

The solemn mansion, but attentive mark Th'amicted songsters of the sadden'd groves The due clock swinging slow with sweepF STT. Hail not the sullen gloom : the waving elms Measuring time's flight with momentary sound. That, hoar through time and rang'd in thick array, Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind Inclose with stately row some rural hall,

With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse, Are saute, nor echo with the clamors hoarse Divine Melpomene, sweet Pity's nurse, of rooks rejoicing on their airy boughs ;

Queen of the stately slep, and flowing pall. While to the shed the dripping poultry crowd, Now let Monimia mourn with streaming eres A mournful train : secure the village-hind

Her joys incestuous, and polluted lore ; Hangs o'er the crackling blaze, nor tempts the storm; Now let soft Juliet in the gaping tomb Fix'd in th' unfinish'd furrow rests the plow : Print the last kiss on her true Romeo's lips Rings not the high wood with enliven'd shouts His lips yet reeking from the deadly draught: Of early hunter: all is silence drear;

Or Jaffier kneel for one forgiving look. And deepest sadness wraps the face of things. Nor seldom let the Moor on Desdemone Through Pope's soft song though all the Graces Pour the misguided threats of jealous rage. breathe,

By soft degrees the manly torrent steals And happiest art adorn his Attic page;

From my swoln eyes; and at a brother's woe Yet does my mind with sweeter transport glow, My big heart melts in sympathizing tears. As at the root of mossy trunk reclin'd,

What are the splendors of the gaudy court, In magic Spenser's wildly-warbled song

Its tinsel trappings, and its pageant pomps!
I see deserted Una wander wide

To me far happier seems the banish'd lond,
Through wasteful solitudes, and lurid heaths, Amid Siberia's unrejoicing wilds,
Weary, forlorn; than when the fated fair

Who pines all lonesome, in the chambens hoar Upon the bosom bright of silver Thames

Of some high castle shut, whose windows dim Launches in all the lustre of brocade,

In distant ken discover trackless plains, Amid the splendors of the laughing Sun.

Where Winter ever whirls his icy car! The gay description palls upon the sense,

While still repeated objects of his view, And coldly strikes the mind with feeble bliss. The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires,

That crown the solitary dome, arise ;

Of sunk magnificence! a blended scene While from the topmost turret the slow clock, Of moles, fanes, arches, domes, and palaces, Far heard along th' inhospitable wastes,

Where, with his brother Horror, Ruin sits. With sad-returning chime awakes new grief; O come then, Melancholy, queen of thought! Ev'n he far happier seems than is the proud,

O come with saintly look, and stedfast step, The potent satrap, whom he left behind

From forth thy cave embower'd with mournful yew 'Mid Moscow's golden palaces, to drown

Where ever to the curfew's solemn sound In ease and luxury the laughing hours.

List'ning thou sitt'st, and with thy cypress bind Illustrious objects strike the gazer's mind

Thy votary's hair, and seal him for thy son.
With feeble bliss, and but allure the sight,

But never let Euphrosyne beguile
Nor rouse with impulse quick th' unfeeling heart. With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind,

Thus seen by shepherds from Hymettus' brow, Nor in my path her primrose-garland cast. [ What dædal landscapes smile! here palmy groves, Though 'mid her train the dimpled Hebe bare Resounding once with. Plato's voice, arise,

Her rosy bosom to th' enamour'd view; Amid whose umbrage green her silver head Though Venus, mother of the Smiles and Loves, Th' unfading olive lists: here vine-clad hills And Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, in citron-bow'r Lay forth their purple store, and sunny vales With her on nectar-streaming fruitage feast : In prospect vast their level laps expand,

What though 'tis here to calm the low'ring skies, Amid whose beauties glistering Athens tow'rs. And at her presence mild th' embattled clouds Though through the blissful scenes Ilissiis roll Disperse in air, and o'er the face of Heav'n His sage-inspiring flood, whose winding marge New day diffusive gleam at her approach ? The thick-wove laurel shades; though roseate Morn Yet are these joys that Melancholy gives, Pour all her splendors on th' empurpled scene; Than all her witless revels happier far; Yet feels the hoary hermit truer joyg,

These deep-felt joys, by Contemplation taught. As from the cliff, that o'er his cavern hangs,

Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail ! He views the piles of fall'n Persepolis

From thee began, auspicious maid, my song, In deep arrangement hide the darksome plain. With thee shall end ; for thou art fairer far Unbounded waste! the mould'ring obelisk

Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's mossy grot; Here, like a blasted oak, ascends the clouds ; To loftier rapture thou canst wake the thought, Here Parian domes their vaulted halls disclose Than all the fabling poet's boasted pow'rs. Horrid with thorn, where lurks th' unpitying thief, Hail, queen divine! whom, as tradition tells, Whence fits the twilight-loving bat at eve, Once in his evening walk a Druid found, And the deaf adder wreathes her spotted train, Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods ; The dwellings once of elegance and art.

And piteous bore with hospitable hand Here temples rise, amid whose hallow'd bounds To the close shelter of his oaken bow'r. Spires the black pine, while through the naked street, There soon the sage admiring mark'd the dawn Once haunt of tradeful merchants, springs the grass : Of solemn musing in your pensive thought; Here columns heap'd on prostrate columns, torn For when a smiling babe, you lov'd to lie From their firm base, increase the mould'ring mass. Oft deeply list'ning to the rapid roar Far as the sight can pierce, appear the spoils of wood-hung Meinai, stream of Druids old.

WILLIAM MASON.

WILLIAM MASON, a poet of some distinction, born/ verse, made its appearance, of which the fourt in 1725, was the son of a clergyman, who held the concluding book was printed in 1781. lis po living of Hull. He was admitted first of St. John's was to recommend the modern system of naiina. College, and afterwards of Pembroke College, Cam- landscape gardening, to which the author ada bridge, of the latter of which he was elected Fel- with the rigor of exclusive taste. The verur low in 1747. He entered into holy orders in 1754, is formed upon the best models, and the dec and, by the favor of the Earl of Holderness, was in many parts, is rich and vivid; but a gestionat presented to the valuable rectory of Ashton, York- of stiffness prevented it from attaining aus shire, and became Chaplain to His Majesty. Some siderable share of popularity. Some of his fans poems which he printed gave him reputation, which poetic pieces express his liberal sentiments on received a great accession from his dramatic poem cal subjects; and when the late Mr. Pirt an Ix of " Elfrida." By this piece, and his “ Caractacus,” | power, being then the friend of a free construir which followed, it was his aim to attempt the resto. Mason addressed him in an “Ode, containing 12" ration of the ancient Greek chorus in tragedy ; but patriotic and manly ideas. But teing sirten this is so evidently an appendage of the infant and alarm at the unhappy events of the Freneb ter > imperfect state of the drama, that a pedantic at- tion, one of his latest pieces was a - Palipocr : tachment to the ancients could alone suggest its re- Liberty." He likewise revived, in an ima vival. In 1756, he published a small collection of form, and published, Du Fresnoy's Latin poes “Odes," which were generally considered as display- the Art of Painting, enriching it with additasis ing more of the artificial mechanism of poetry, than nished by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and with a hex of its genuine spirit. This was not the case with version. Few have been better executed than wat his “Elegies," published in 1763, which, abating which unites to great beauties of language a co some superfluity of ornament, are in general marked representation of the original. His tribute to 5 with the simplicity of language proper to this spe- memory of Gray, being an edition of his po cies of composition, and breathe noble sentiments of with some additions, and Memoirs of his like a freedom and virtue. A collection of all his poems Writings, was favorably received by the pulc. which he thought worthy of preserving, was pub- Mason died in April, 1797, at the age of serta lished in 1764, and afterwards went through several two, in consequence of a mortification produced editions. He had married an amiable lady, who a hurt in his leg. A tablet has been placed on died of a consumption in 1767, and was buried in memory in Poets' Corner, in Westminster Abon the cathedral of Bristol, under a monument, on His character in private life was exemplary to which are inscribed some very tender and beautiful worth and active benevolence, though not wid lines, by her husband.

la degree of stateliness and assumed superiodo In 1772, the first book of Mason's " English Gar-manner. dan," a didactic and descriptive poem, in blankl

ODE TO MEMORY.

MOTHER of Wisdom! thou, whose sway
The throng'd ideal hosts obey ;
Who bidd'st their ranks, now vanish, now appear,
Flame in the van, or darken in the rear;

Accept this votive verse. Thy reign

Nor place can fix, nor power restrain.
All, all is thine. For thee the ear, and eye,
Rove through the realms of grace, and harmony:

The senses thee spontaneous serve,

That wake, and thrill through ev'ry nerve.
Else vainly soft, lov'd Philomel! would Now
The soothing sadness of thy warbled woe :

Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade
With clouds of fragrance fill the glade ;

Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume,
The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom.

But swift to thee, alive and warm,

Devolves each tributary charm :
See modest Nature bring her simple stores,
Luxuriant Art exhaust her plastic powers;

While every flower in Fancy's climne,

Each gem of old heroic time,
Cull'd by the hand of the industrious Muse, .
Around thy shrine their blended beams diffuse.

Hail, Mem'ry! hail. Behold, I lead

To that high shrine the sacred maid:
Thy daughter she, the empress of the lyre,
'The first, the fairest, of Aonia's quire.

She comes, and lo, thy realms expand
She takes her delegated stand

Full in the midst, and o'er thy num'rous train

As now o'er this lone beach I stray,
Displays the awful wonders of her reign.

Thy fav'rite swain* oft stole along,
There thron'd supreme in native state,

And artless wove his Dorian lay,
If Sirius fame with fainting heat,

Far from the busy throng.
She calls ; ideal groves their shade extend,

Thou heard'st him, goddess, strike the tender string, The cool gale breathes, the silent show'rs descend. And bad'st his soul with bolder passions move : Or, if bleak Winter, frowning round,

Soon these responsive shores forgot to ring,
Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground, With beauty's praise, or plaint of slighted love;
She, mild magician, waves her potent wand, To loftier Alights his daring genius rose,
And ready summers wake at her command. And led the war 'gainst thine, and Freedom's foes.

See, visionary suns arise
Through silver clouds and azure skies;

Pointed with satire's keenest steel,
See, sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams;

The shafts of wit he darts around ; Through shadowy brakes light glance the sparkling

Ev'nt mitred dullness learns to feel,

And shrinks beneath the wound.
beams :
While, near the secret moss-grown cave,

In awful poverty his honest Muse
That stands beside the crystal wave,

Walks forth vindictive through a venal land :
Sweet Echo, rising from her rocky bed,

In vain corruption sheds her golden dews, Mimics the feather'd chorus o'er her head.

In vain oppression lifts her iron hand;

He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone,
Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say,

Bids lust and folly tremble on the throne.
How, at thy gloomy close of day,
How, when “deprest by age, beset with wrongs;"

Behold, like him, immortal maid,

The Muses' vestal fires I bring : When“ fall'n on evil days and evil tongues ;" is When darkness, brooding on thy sight,

Here, at thy feet, the sparks I spread: on Exil'd the soy'reign lamp of light;

Propitious wave thy wing, Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse ?

And fan them to that dazzling blaze of song, What friends were thine, save Mem'ry and the Muse?

Which glares tremendous on the sons of pride. Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth

But, hark! methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue ! Caught from the stores of ancient truth:

In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ; Hence all thy classic wand'rings could explore,

Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free,

As swells the lark's meridian ecstasy.
When rapture led thee to the Latian shore ;
Each scene, that Tyber's banks supplied ;

“ Fond youth! to Marvell's patriot fame,
Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side;

Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire.
The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly; Yet nourish still the lambent flame;
The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky;

Still strike thy blameless lyre :
Were still thine own; thy ample mind Led by the moral Muse, securely rove;

Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. And all the vernal sweets thy vacant youth
And thence " the nightly visitant," that came Can cull from busy Fancy's fairy grove,
To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame,

Oh bang their foliage round the fane of Truth:
Recall'd the long-lost beams of grace,

To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil,
That whilom shot from Nature's face,

And meet its fair reward in D'Arcy's smile.
When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast
Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gor. “ 'Tis he, my son, alone shall cheer
geous vest.

Thy sick'ning soul; at that sad hour,
When o'er a much-lov'd parent's bier,

Thy duteous sorrows shower:
ODE TO INDEPENDENCY.

At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline ;

When pining Care leads on her pallid train,
HERE, on my native shore reclin'd,

And sees thee, like the weak and widow'd vine,
While silence rules this midnight hour, Winding thy blasted tendrils o'er the plain.
I woo thee, Goddess ! On my musing mind At that sad hour shall D'Arcy lend his aid,
Descend, propitious power!

And raise with friendship's arm thy drooping head.
And bid these ruffling gales of grief subside:
Bid my calm'd soul with all thy influence shine; “ This fragrant wreath, the Muses' meed,
As yon chaste orb along this ample tide

That bloom'd those vocal shades among, Draws the long lustre of her silver line,

Where never flatt'ry dar'd to tread, While the hush'd breeze its last weak whisper blows,

Or interest's servile throng; And lulls old Humber to his deep repose.

Receive, thou favor'd son, at my command,

And keep with sacred care, for D'Arcy's brow:
Come to thy vot'ry's ardent prayer,

Tell him, 'twas wove by my immortal hand,
In all thy graceful plainness drest :

I breath'd on every flower a purer glow;
No knot confines thy waving hair,

Say, for thy sake, I send the gift divine
No zone, thy floating vest ;

To him, who calls thee his, yet makes thee mine."
Unsullied honor decks thine open brow,
And candor brightens in thy modest eye :

* Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston upon-Hull in the Thy blush is warm content's ethereal glow;

year 1620. Thy smile is peace; thy step is liberty :

† See The Rehearsal Transposed, and an account of Thou scatter'st blessings round with lavish hand,