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If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
Like thy own brawling springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales ; O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd Sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O’erhang his wavy bed ;Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing;
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soften'd strain, Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening May not unseemly with its stillness suit; [vale ;
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial loved return!
The fragrant hours, and elves
* May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs, &c. Langhorne's edit.
And many a nymph who wreaths her brows with
sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Or find some ruin, midst its dreary dells,
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.
That, from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil., While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace
ODES TO SLEEP.
I. () THOU whose light touch sheds the opiate dews Of bland Oblivion; thou whose power Man's wearied drooping frame renews, Oft as thou deign’st thy influence shower On my closed lids, lead me, O shadowy queen, To fairy regions, and some blissful clime Elysian ; picturing the unreal scene In Fancy's gorgeous garb and imagery sublime : And bring from out thy magic cell That potent necromantic spell Which holds the soul in wonder's trance, While pass thy airy train successive by, Rolling along the vision's ecstasy To rapt Attention's glance: Oft has the bard whom genius warms, Who marks at eve thy spectre-forms, Won from thy magic stores divine The colouring of his simple line ; And o’er the page the Muses own Rays of poetic glory thrown; And sketch'd the high wrought scenes, and bade
them glow In radiant hues of light, and Fiction's solemn show.
But far, far greater boast was thine
Thou camest; but which when Wisdom's self be
held, Rightly she augured what thy visions meant, Shadow'd in doubtful hues by some immortal hand; When breathing mystic truths divine, Full many a seer and prophet thou hast taught, And from the Almigbty brought Behests of dread command and import high; While the rapt mind's judging eye In cloudless perspective the future caught: Nor seldom God or Angel held Converse with man; the midnight hour Illumined shone with glory's ray, And coruscations of eternal day Waved, queen of silence! o'er thy darksome bower; Heaven oped her golden portals wide, And far within her glittering courts were spied The' angelic phalanx robed in vestments bright* To earth descending slow from yon fair worlds of
And still thy gracious forms await
. Genesis xxviii. 12.
While the pale spectre Fear
Beneath the dim Earth's centre deep,
About thy sable standard pass