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Yes, here your gloomy reign

Ends, O long-cherish'd train
Of moody thoughts and soul-depressing cares;

For me Ianthe wreaths

A myrtle crown, and breathes (prayers. Soft rapturous sighs, fond vows, and tenderest

She, she, divinest maid,

Blooms, in such charms array'd
As opening roses on their sunny beds !

Her accents might beguile

Despair; her look, her smile
On all around delicious influence sheds.

But not her smiles alone,

Her voice of melting tone, Nor bloom, nor grace my willing heart control;

For in her form enshrined

Resides the radiant mind That crowns, illumes, and animates the whole.

By her beloved, new born

Am I to bliss; the morn More sweet appears, more blue the' expanse above;

More mild the passing gale,

More verdant seems the vale,
And all is gladness, harmony, and love.

Now, to my unfilm'd sight,

O sun! thy golden light,
From which I wont disgusted to retire,

Once more I feel is dear,

Once more my breast can cheer, And ardent hopes and thoughts sublime inspire.

Dian, more fair meseems

Thou art than when thy beams Saw me retreat in solitude to pine;

And ye, aye burning stars,

That guide your emerald cars Mid boundless space, with nobler lustre shine.

Now, joyous as I rové,

Each cool and whispering grove, Not less to bliss than to 'pale passion' dear,

Shall bid its feather'd throng

Awake a sprightlier song,
And pour delight upon my tranced ear.

Nor thou, my lyre, that oft,

In numbers sweetly soft,
Hast plain'd the story of thy master's woes,

Now, while his heart beats high

With ecstasy, shalt lie
Unstrung, and sunk in indolent repose.

Now, from thy vocal wires,

While love, while beauty fires,
And rosy-pinion’d pleasure hovers round,

No strains of mournful fall

My rapid hand shall call,
But bid thy boldest harmonies resound.

Yes, glowing be the song !

Such raptures well belong To him who sings the bless’d Ianthe's praise :

And lo! more mildly bright

Than Hesper's beamy light She comes, the queen, the glory of my lays.

She comes ! ye zephyrs bland,

Your purple plumes expand ; Ye blooming flowers, your balmy breath diffuse;

Ye birds, with warbled air,

Salute the peerless fair,
Sacred to love, to beauty, and the muse.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

TO SLEEP

Though oft in hours of grief and pain,

Thy gentle slumbers, strength-restoring,
Have I, alas ! invoked in vain ;

Yet, once again thy aid imploring,
1

pour to thee, O Sleep, the strain.
Think not I ask thee to befriend

Awhile this breast in anguish sighing :
To me no succour thou canst lend ;

My woes, such feeble force defying,
A mightier power than thine must end.
But fly to Lesbia's couch, and there

Thy downy pinions lightly spreading,
Let no rude sound disturb the fair,

But, all thy balmy influence shedding,
Drive far away each anxious care.
And O thy visions, heavenly bright!

The soul from earthly thoughts relieving,
Around her spread, propitious sprite!

Sweetly her charmed sense deceiving,
Till rosy Morn command thy fight.

R. A. DAVENPORT.

ODE.
LET the sons of Lucre pine
For glittering heaps of golden ore,
To swell the accumulated store,
Contemn the terrors of the mine;
Explore the caverns dark and drear,
Mantled around with deadly dew;
Where congregated vapours blue,

Fired by the taper glimmering near,
Bid dire explosion the deep realms invade,
And earth-born lightnings gleam athwart the’ in-

fernal shade.
Pride, on thy vesture's purple fold,
Let the sky-tinctured sapphire blaze,
The emerald shed its milder rays,
And rubies blush in circling gold:
Low at thy nod let suppliants bow,
And crested chiefs precedence yield;
Thy hand the rod of empire wield,

And wreaths of triumph grace thy brow.
À nobler aim let my ambition own,
Be Love my empire, Lesbia's heart my throne !

Where into rage the wintry blast
Awakes old Ocean's slumbering wave,
Let Commerce urge her busy slave,
And elevate his trembling mast
Above the billowy precipice,
To meet the forked lightning's flash ;
Then down the adventurous vessel dash,

Foundering within the black abyss :
Or let his freight secure the surges sweep,
And of their prey defraud the monsters of the deep:

VOL. III.

My bark the tide of young desire,
0 Venus, to thy happy realm
Shall waft, fair Hope direct the helm,
Love's sighs the swelling sails inspire;
To thee, bright offspring of the wave,
I'll many an amorous vow prefer :
From storms of hate thy mariner

And blast of chill indifference save!
So to thy power I'll frame the votive lay,
And, moor'd in Lesbia's arms, confess thy sove-

reign sway.
Amid ensanguined fields of war,
Valour, be thy votary found;
Where crimson banners wave around,
The martial clarion, echoing far;
In vain gigantic Terror calls
His spectre shapes, a ghastly band :
Nor Discord, hurling high his brand,

Nor Danger's horrid front appals ;
Nor Death his fierce unconquer'd soul can tame,
Or from his grasp withhold the glorious meed of

Fame.
But let me wander far away
From the loud drum and neighing steed,
Through many a pansie-painted mead,
Where Isis' bright-hair'd Naiads stray;
High o'er my head a pendent bower
Let the broad elm and branching pine
With intermingling umbrage twine;

There Love's impassion'd song I'll pour,
And summon every wave that dances near,
Bridling his wanton speed my Lesbia's praise to

hear.

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