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Long, long the drooping captive dwells
In cruel cages, grated cells;
Oft wishful views some distant tree,
And pants and flutters to be free;
With grief and rage would fain expire,
And leaves a plume on every wire.



O THOU, the daughter of the Vernal Dew,
That, glistering to the morn with pearly light,
The gentle Aura woo'd
Beside a dripping cave;

There, midst the blush of roses, won the nymph
To dalliance, as in sighs she whisper'd love;
There saw thee born, as May
Unclosed her laughing eye;

Haply, thy slippers glance along my path
Where frosted lilies veil their silver bells
Beneath the lively green
Of their full-shading leaves.

Spirit of Freshness, hail! At this dim hour
While, streak'd with recent gray, the dawn ap-
Where sport thy humid steps, [pears,
Ambrosial essence, say?

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Or dost thou wander in the hoary field
Where, overhead, I view the cautious hare
Nibbling, while stillness reigns,
The light-sprent barley blade?

Or dost thou hover o'er the hawthorn bloom,
Where, in his nest of clay, the blackbird opes
His golden lids, and tunes
A soft preluding strain;

Or art thou soaring mid the fleeced air

To meet the dayspring, where the plume-wet lark
Pours sudden his shrill note
Beneath a dusky cloud?

I see thee not-But lo! a vapoury shape
That oft belies thy form, emerging slow
From that deep central gloom,
Rests on the moon-tipp'd wood.

Now, by a halo circled, sails along,
As gleams with icicles his azure vest,
Now shivers on the trees,

And feebly sinks from sight.

"Tis cold! and lo! upon the whitening folds
Of the dank mist that fills the hollow dell,
Chill Damp with drizzly locks
Glides in his lurid car,

Where a lone fane o'er those broad rushes nods
In slumberous torpor; save when flitting bat
Stirs the rank ivy brown
That clasps its oozing walls!

Yet, yet, descending from yon eastern tent
Whose amber seems to kiss the wavy plain,
A form, half viewless, spreads
A flush purpureal round.

I know thee, Freshness! Lo! delicious green
Sprinkles thy path. The bursting buds above
With vivid moisture glow,
To mark thy gradual way.

The florets, opening, from their young cups dart
The carmine blush, the yellow lustre clear:
And now entranced I drink
Thy breath in living balms!

And not a ryegrass trembles, but it gives
A scent salubrious: not a flower exhales
Its odours, but it breathes
O'er all a cool repose.

Mild shadowy power! whilst now thy tresses, bathed

In primrose tints, the snowdrop's coldness shed On skyblue hyacinths,

Thy chaste and simple wreath;

While flows to Zephyr thy transparent robe,
Stealing the colours of the lunar bow,

How short thy vestal reign
Amid the rosy lawn!

Yes! if thou mix the saffron hues that stream
From the bright orient with the roscid rays
Of yonder orb that hangs

A silvery drop on high;

Or if thou love, along the lucent sod,
To catch the sparkles of thy modest star;
With all the mingled beams
Heightening some virgin's bloom;

Fleet as the shadow from the breded heaven
Brushing the gossamer, thy steps retire
Within the gelid gloom
Of thy green-vested oak.

There, as its ambient arch with airy sweep
Chequers the ground, thine eyes of dewy light'
Pursue the turf that floats
In many a tremulous wave.

And now, retreating to the breezy marge
Of the pure stream, thy ruby fingers rear
The new-blown flowers that wake
To tinge its crystal tide:

Or gently on thine alabaster urn

Thy head reclines, beneath some aged beech
That mid the crisped brook

Steeps its long-wreathed roots.

While from the cave where first thine essence sprung, [spars, Where the chaste Naiads ranged their glittering Rills, trickling through the moss, Purl o'er the pebbled floor.

There sleep till eve; as now the tyrant heat
Kindles, with rapid strides, the' extensive lawn,
And e'en thy favourite haunt,
The verdurous oak, invades.

And may no vapours from that osier'd bank
Annoy thee thou, whose delicacy dreads,
Though shrinking from the sun,
The sallow's stagnant shade.

There sleep till eve; unless the spring-loved showers,

Pattering among the foliage, bid thee rise

To taste those transient blooms

That with the rainbow live. VOL. III.


There sleep till eve; when as thy parent Air
With feathery softness flutters o'er thine urn,
And midst the vermeil bower,
The dew thy feet impearls ;

Joy'd shalt thou hail the watery-tinted cloud,
Whose radiant skirts half hide the westering orb,
Whilst a fine emerald hue.
The whole horizon stains;

Till through the fragrance of his sweetbriar leaves
Thy glowworm flings a solitary ray,

As peace descends, to hush
The twilight-bosom'à scene!



-RAPT in thought that bids thee rise
In all thy forms before mine eyes,
I glow with joy to see thee come
In rosy health and youthful bloom:
And now cold horror trembles o'er my soul,
When thou, in blank uncertainty array'd,
With iron-hearted deaf control
Throw'st all around thy awful dubious shade.

Oh, give my song, mysterious power, The joys and terrors of thy sway to tell, Thy sway o'er universal nature spread, The sweetest hope of man, and darkest dread! Behold, where shivering in the rattling hail,

While drizzling black clouds o'er him lour, Bent o'er his staff, with livid visage fell,

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