Eyezion.

Dawn had not streak’d the spacious veil of night,

When Eyezion, the light poet of the spring,

Hied from his restless bed, to sing,

Impatient for the promis’d beams of light:

Sweetly his voice through woods and vallies rang,

While fleeting o’er the hills, these anxious notes he sang:

These notes a sportive zephyr gently blew;

The lovely Viza op’d her star-like eyes:

Her dreams dissolving ’mid night’s shadows flew,

While sweet sensations in her bosom rise.

Her ears th’ enchanting strains with pleasure greet,

She asks, who sang so early, and so sweet?

A current of creative mind,

Wild as the wandering gusts of wind,

’Mid fertile fancy’s visions train’d,

Unzon’d I shot, and o’er each limit strain’d;

Around in airy circles whirl’d

By a genius infinite;

While Love in wanton ringlets curl’d

My tresses, passion to excite.

Thus skimming o’er the tracts of life,

Borne on light elements, I bound;

Free from rage, and coarser strife,

I catch new beauties all around;

From Love’s light wings I steal the tender down,

While each gay Muse my aspiring temples crown.

When Grief pursues with harpy wing,

To whirl me to dark realms of Care,

Upon poetic spells I fly,

Wafted afar from black Despair;

And, as I sing,

Am rais’d on high:

Young Joy with pleasure smoothes the scene,

Of mortal eyes unseen;

With these I fleet,

Amid the Loves and Smiles sweet flowrets wreathe;

And every sigh I waft, and every joy I breathe,

Mix’d with seraphic airs, fly on poetic feet.

Viza.

Thou sweet enthusiast! say, what brings thee here,

Ere mounting larks have hail’d the morning star?

Involving shades, with cruel care,

Now wrap thee in their womb;

Though here and there a glittering star

Shoots through blank night, and breaks the gloom.

Viza.

Methinks the fading night decays,

And morning breezes fan the air.

Eyezion.

Distinct I view the silvering rays

O’er yonder mountain tops appear.

Wild midst the teeming buds of opening May,

Breaking large branches from the flow’ry thorn,

O’er the fern’d hills see Rosamonda stray,

Scattering the pearls which the gay leaves adorn!

Her ringlets o’er her temples play {Handwritten addition: ,} end of handwritten addition

Flush’d with the orient splendour of the morn {Handwritten addition: .} end of handwritten addition

The sun broke forth—and wide its glories threw,

Blushing along the sky, and sparkling in the dew.

The plains gay-glitter’d with ethereal light;

And the field-melody,

Nature’s wild harmony,

Breath’d love, and sang delight!

Fresh Rosamonde the glowing scene surveys,

Her youthful bosom inly stung with pain;

Early amid the shadowy trees she strays,

Her shining eyes the starting tears restrain;

While tyrant Love within her pulses plays,

O’er the wet grass she flew with wild disdain.

She flew from thought, and far

She sang, and hail’d the morning star.

Her voice was pinion’d on the wind,

Which wafts her notes around;

Encircling zephyrs caught each sound,

And bore them echoing through the wood,

Where pleas’d offended Urban stood,

With archest smile, yet musical and kind:

Conquering the sigh, she gayly sung,

And scorn loud-trembled on her wiery tongue.

While Urban stood, and held her in his eyes,

He to his lips applies

The soft-breath’d flute;

Whose notes, when touch’d with art,

Steal to the inmost heart,

And throw the tyrannizing spirit down—

While vanity and pride are charm’d and mute.

Those lays reach’d Rosamonda’s ear,

She fluttering, like a bird whom fear

Has drawn within the fascinating serpent’s fangs,

Unable to conceal the pangs

Of pride, conflicting with returning love,

To hide her blushes, darts amid the grove:

Sweet showers fast sprinkle from her lovely eyes,

Which drown her short-liv’d scorn;

But as she moves the young musician flies,

Leaves her all wild, sad, weeping, and forlorn!

The sun had thrown its noontide ray

Amid the flowers, and scorch’d the plains,

Which panted for refreshing rains;

While gaudy flies their golden wings display,

And bees cull’d sweets to chear a wintry day:

Each beam that darted down

Chas’d lingering shades,

Through the thick umbrage of the trees pervades,

And universal splendour shed around:

The slippery grass, burnt brown with heat,

Unkindly scorch’d the traveller’s feet.

And now, oppress’d,

While every creature languid hied to rest,

Amid the blaze Lysander bounds along,

Bold as a lion, scorch’d by many a clime;

Far off was heard the echoes of his song,

Responsive to his clear and artless rhyme:

He seeks no shade, nor grotto’s cool retreat,

But on, amidst the furzy heath, he press’d;

The heart’s warm passions through his pulses beat,

And native fire inspires his manly breast.

He seeks the craggy shore which ocean laves,

And, seated on a rock, surveys the swelling waves:

The eminence th’ horizon’s scope commands,

The plains surrounding, and the burning strands.

O’er the wild scene he threw a happy look,

Compares the present pleasure with the past;

Gladly he turns each page of Nature’s book,

And prays the freedom of his soul may last.

He roll’d his eyes

Across the seas;

Now glancing o’er the glassy waves,

Now mounting to the skies,

Th’ immortal prize

Of valiant souls who find deep watery graves.

Thus as he sat, by strong reflection bound,

Up the rough rock ascends a sound,

Which piercingly pervades his ears;

It seem’d the frantic cry of woe,

Which struggling groan’d, without the aid of tears.

The sounds like lightening reach’d his heart; and flush’d

With quick alarm he made no longer stay,

Ardently down the craggy steep he rush’d,

Rough heights he leap’d, impatient of delay,

And tow’rds the sufferer bent his eager way;

Till by the sea he reach’d some rocky caves,

Lash’d by the loud-resounding waves.

There a wild female rent her golden hair,

With raging passions blind;

Her sad young bosom bare,

And frantic seem’d her stormy mind.

Swift tow’rds the sea she flies,

With direful cries;

Driven on by fierce despair,

Mid oozy waves to drown remaining sense of care.

Touch’d by each generous thought,

By strong humanity impress’d,

The damsel in his arms he caught,

And held her, struggling, to his breast.

He stretch’d her on the shore—

He fetched cool water from the seas,

And sprinkled her all o’er,

And fanning her with leaves collects the breeze:

Till on the heavens she op’d her azure eyes,

And, with returning thought and grief, look’d up—

“Ah, wretched me! she cry’d, with bursting sighs,

Stung to the heart, she rose;

Tears stream’d from her fair eyes;

Shame in her cheeks reviv’d the damask rose,

And poignant sorrow burst in bitter sighs:

She wept all silently:

Lysander scarce could speak,

Though sometimes, “Cruelty! O cruelty!”

Forth from his lips would break.

With generous passions swell’d his noble breast;

Passions too strong and deep to be express’d;

Pity and rage with equal strivings beat,

And sympathy, wrought high by nat’ral heat:

“By my true soul! at length he cried,

The damsel’s sorrow, like a furious storm,

Rack’d her celestial system with its rage;

Dire elements in her bosom war did wage,

And the mild radiance of her charms deform.

At length the vivid fires rush’d to her heart,

Tingled in ev’ry vein, blaz’d from her eyes,

While sudden joys before her spirits rise,

And o’er her cheeks warm transient colours dart:

Fir’d by his zeal,

Extatic feelings tinge her frame;

Whose glow the passions of her breast reveal

Bright blossoms of a future ripening flame!

In clouds drew on the evening’s close,

Which cross the west in ranges stood,

As pensive Gertrude sought the wood,

And there the darkest thicket chose;

While from her eyes amid the wild briar flows

A sad and briny flood.

Dark o’er her head

Roll’d heavy clouds, while showers,

Perfum’d by summer’s wild and spicy flowers,

Their ample torrents shed.

Why does she mourn?

Why droop, like flowret nipp’d in early spring?

Alas! her tenderness meets no return!

Love hovers round her with his airy wing,

And warms her youthful heart with vain delight:

While Urban’s graceful form enchants her sight,

And from his eyes shoots forth the poisonous sting,

Another’s charms th’ impassion’d youth inspir’d,

The sportive Rosamonde his genius fir’d.

The drops which glide down Gertrude’s cheeks

Her disregarded tresses, wet with tears,

Hung o’er her panting bosom straight and sleek;

Her faithful heart was all despondency and fears.

The skies disgorg’d, their last large drops refrain,

The cloudy hemisphere’s no more perturb’d;

The leafy boughs, that had receiv’d the rain,

With gusts of wind disturb’d,

Shake wild their scattering drops o’er glade and plain;

They fall on Gertrude’s breast, and her white
garments stain.

Sighing, she threw her mantle o’er her head,

And through the brakes towards her mansion sped;

Unheedingly her vestments drew along,

Sweeping the tears that to the branches hung:

And as she pass’d

O’er the soak’d road, from off the shining grass,

In clods around her feet the moist earth clung.

The clouds dispers’d, again to sight

The evening sun glow’d lambent bright;

And forcing back the lowering shades,

Spread its enlivening beams, and kindled mid the glades:

With high-wrought verdure every object glow’d,

And purple hills their glittering mansions show’d.

The universal gleam invites to sport,

For toil and care cease with the ebbing day;

Th’ industrious youths to plains or groves resort,

Dance on the lawn, or o’er the hillocks stray.

Gertrude, wandering up a lane,

From among the winding trees,

Fann’d by a refreshing breeze,

Ascends upon the glistening plain.

Across gay Iris flung her bow,

Reflecting each celestial ray;

As if the flowers that deck’d the May

Were there exhal’d, and through its watery pores did
glow.

From a fair covert, Urban’s gay resort,

A whistling pipe in warbling notes respir’d;

The well-known sound invites each youth to sport,

And every heart its harmony inspir’d;

While from each mead,

So thick with daisies spread,

The bounding nymphs with fairy lightness sprung,

And gayly wild their sportive sonnets sung;

The air was scented by the odorous flowers,

Bright sprinkled with the dews of fresh-fall’n show’rs.

Of lively grace, and dimpled smiles,

Slim Cynthia, the refin’d,

Came, with neat Phillis, full of tricksome wiles;

While Silvius stroll’d behind,

Chas’d by the marble-hearted Rosalind:

The loud and witty large-mouth Madge,

With her obsequious servant Hodge.

Blythe from the mill, which briskly turning round

Made the young zephyrs breathe a rural sound,

Leap’d Charles, gay glowing with industrious heat,

Active to lead in every rustic feat:

Back from his brows he shook his wavy locks,

And turning quick his lively eyes,

His lovely, modest Peggy spies,

Returning with her aged father’s flocks.

Straight with his hand he gave his heart sincere,

Devoid of order danc’d, and whistled loud and clear.

Hebe, a blooming, sprightly fair,

With shallow Ned, an ill-match’d pair;

Simple Daphne, rosy John,

And ever-blundering Heleson:

From a large mansion, gloom’d by shading trees,

Forth sprung the star-ey’d Luisse;

Graceful her tresses flow’d around,

Like scatter’d clouds, that catch the moon’s pale
beams;

Scarcely she seem’d to touch the verdant ground,

But, as inspir’d, along the plain she streams.

More join the flock;—they spring in air,

Light as wing’d doves, and like to doves they pair;

The sun’s last ray now linger’d o’er their head,

And sweets delectable around were spread.

Poor Gertrude, hid amongst the trees, survey’d

Each ardent youth, each blooming maid;

And as she gaz’d,

Pleasure by slow degrees within her senses steals:

Her eyes, with tears impearl’d, she rais’d,

Her heart each sweet sensation feels;

Lightly her feet the grassy meadows tread,

While music’s power deludes her from her cares;

Among the nymphs, by its soft influence led,

Her sympathetic breast their raptures shares.

Thus while she felt, and join’d the lively throng,

Lo! quick ascends the plain

The glory of each swain,

Urban, with sportive song,

Whose chearful notes in frolic measures fled;

While Rosamonde,

Fleet-footed, glowing Rosamonde, he led:

The rapture of the lark her voice sent forth,

Too well, ah! Gertrude knew its worth;

Dire tremblings soon her spirits seize:

Could she, vain untaught nymph, aspire to please?

Her body owns no grace,

No smiles, no dimples, deck her eyes or face:

She feels that she has nought to prize;

Yet, totally devoid of art,

Expression’s charm was her’s, with beaming eyes,

A voice soul-reaching, and a feeling heart.

She turn’d around—

The flying breezes loosen’d to the air

Her ill-beseeming vests, her scatter’d hair:

So sad she look’d, so artless was her woe,

As from a thinking mind had drawn a tear;

But joy through every vein had stole,

And mirth shut out the sympathetic glow.

The heart’s gay dance admits of no controul,

Sweet joys but seldom through our senses steal;

Tis pity then we should forget to feel.

Gay wicked wit amid the circle spread,

And wanton round the lively sallies sped;

Each neat-trimm’d maiden laugh’d with playful glee,

Whom whispering swains divert with mimickry.

Fair Rosamonde, whose rival bosom burn’d,

With taunting mirth directs young Urban’s eyes;

He, with mischievous archness, smiles return’d,

Amid whose circles wounding satires rise;

Their sportive feet still beat the flowery ground,

While wicked looks, and jests, and jeers went round.

Pierc’d by their insults, stung with bitter smart,

Sad fell poor Gertrude’s tears, high heav’d her heart.

Distant she flew, and sitting on a stone,

Conceal’d, gave sorrow vent, and wept alone:

Till ’mid her grief, a virtuous just disdain

Came to her aid, and made her bosom glow;

With shame she burns, she blushes at her woe,

And wonders at her weakness and her pain.

“Unhappy maid!” she cry’d, “thou art to blame,

Thus to expose thy virtuous breast to shame:

Poor heart! thy love is laugh’d at for its truth;

Yet ’tis a holy treasure, though disdain’d,

And wantonly by thoughtlessness profan’d;

Ah! why then waste the blessings of thy youth?

No more fair reason’s sacred light despise;

Thy heart may blessings find

That dwell not in the eyes,

But in the virtues of the feeling mind.”

Solemn is night, when Silence holds her reign,

And the hush’d winds die on the heaving main;

When no short gleam of scatter’d light appears,

Nor lunar beams make faint the nobler stars;

Then those whom inward cares deprive of rest

Pour forth the secret sorrows of the breast.

Such was the night—smooth glides the bark along,

From whence young Henry breath’d his thoughtful
song;

Pacing the deck, he threw his eyes around

The thick-starr’d firmament, and vast profound;

The patient winds scarce whistled o’er the waist,

The burning waves the vessel’s prow embrac’d;

The nitrous air unclouded glow’d on high,

With northern meteors trembling through the sky.

“Eternal Power!” he cried, “with justice fraught,

O! teach a wretch to curb each stubborn thought,

Whose passions reason’s powers no more restrain,

Grown wanton midst intolerable pain.

Wandering in the still of eve,

While songsters homeward cleave the air,

With lively notes my voice I tun’d,

To usher in the ev’ning star;

But straying near a woody brake,

Sweet sounds of melody ascend,

Oft intermix’d with sighs and tears:

Anxious a pitying ear I lend,

As from a vale below thus sad they roll’d:

“Ah! idiot Fortune, why

Should genius smother’d die

When fled by base delusive gold?

When fled by base delusive gold?

Down sunk the sun, nor shed one golden ray,

But rising mists shut in the low’ring day:

The tides o’erflown had drench’d the swampy turf,

And drizzling rains bedew’d the dreary earth;

The rising moon a bloody meteor seem’d,

And, scarce observ’d, the muffled planets gleam’d;

The winds were hush’d in silence most profound,

And night’s dim shades hung heavily around.

Holbain, a youth benighted in his course,

Led o’er the marshy plains his fiery horse;

Involving treacherous mists delude his sight,

While lost he wander’d through the dreary night.

With speed his blood grew warm, his pulses beat,

The spirits to his panting heart retreat;

Where tyrant fear, with thrilling horror press’d,

Till now a stranger to his daring breast.

An unknown, trackless waste before him lay,

And boggy marshes intercept his way;

His eager pace is check’d by dangerous swamps,

Or stopping he is chill’d by mizzling damps.

Alone, his active mind conspir’d with fear,

And fancied forms impregnated the air:

Clearing the clouds, a sudden gust arose,

Sigh’d through the woods, and shook the wat’ry boughs

Alarm’d, his hand his courser’s rein forsook,

Which free, impetuous o’er the meadows broke;

In bounding circles strove to heave along,

Clogg’d ’mid the slimy mud, and fiercely strong;

Snorting with direful rage, he madd’ning flies,

Then plung’d, and smother’d in a quagmire dies.

Grief pierc’d the youth, while idle terrors flew,

And gloomy fancies melted from his view.

He look’d around;—no spectres haunt his sight,

(For rising winds had swept the misty night)

The moon amid the parting vapours rode,

And o’er the earth a varying light bestow’d.

Mourning his generous friend, while sad he stood,

The sound of feet he heard, and turning, view’d

Near him a man, quick passing o’er the plain,

His aspect peaceful, and his vestments plain;

So thin, he look’d the image of decay,

And closely wrapp’d to keep night’s chills away.

Holbain salutes him, and enquires what care

Tempts him through damps to trust the midnight air?

“Say rather,” he replied, “what cause has led

Thy daring feet to cross this dangerous mead,

O’erjoy’d, the youth his proffer’d aid embrac’d,

Repeats his wanderings, and his fears retrac’d;

Tells how ’mid fogs, bewilder’d in his course,

He ’mongst the marshes lost his faithful horse;

Then names his destin’d journey, and the road,

Which he, mistaking, had unwary trod.

“Thou’rt far, alas! from home, the senior cried,

The path so intricate I scarce can guide;

But if you’ll be the partner of my way,

And deign beneath my humble roof to stay;

Soon as to-morrow shall return the light

My son shall tend thy steps, and set thee right.”

Holbain his ardent gratitude confess’d,

And oft-repeated thanks his joy express’d.

Onward together as their course they speed

The youth recounts the virtues of his steed;

The other patient listen’d, nor reprov’d,

For ’midst his warmth he trac’d a mind he lov’d.

Quitting the plains, they pass where awful stood,

Grown thick with age, a wild majestic wood,

Where lofty trees their solemn branches spread,

And winds loud whistling sung around their head;

Th’ autumnal blight the wither’d leaves had strow’d,

And bright the moon her awful visage show’d:

Rugged and long the way, and late the night,

But pleasing converse made the journey light.

Beguiling time, the elder thus begun,

While native sweetness on his accents hung:

“Say, youth, to what profession art thou bred?

By glory fir’d, or by the Muses led?

Or does philosophy thy mind pervade?

Or seek you riches in the world of trade?”

“Glory, reply’d the youth, has spread its charms;

I caught its {Handwritten deletion: rage} end of handwritten deletion {Handwritten addition: rays} end of handwritten addition, and chose to follow arms;

Impatient grew to signalize my name,

And took the brightest road that led to fame.”

“And what is fame? the senior calm replies;

Distinctly speak, that I may prove thee wise.”

“Fame,” Holbain cried, “like a celestial light,

Radiates pure truth, and makes e’en virtue bright;

The soul of mighty deeds, th’ immortal part,

Whose glorious beams through length of ages dart.”

“Ardent thou speak’st, with smiles rejoin’d the sire,

Yet be not dazzled while thou dost aspire;

Though those whom Fame ’midst her bright glories
place

Shine forth examples to the human race,

Whose every act the crowd with transports view,

And indiscriminate their paths pursue,

Whether their tract a noble end displays,

Or splendent vices catch fame’s dazzling rays:

But be it thine to check ambition’s flame,

And closely link with justice love of fame;

Which shining with intrinsic lustre bright,

With virtue’s beams will dart th’ immortal light.

Heroes too long, of human glory proud,

Insatiable have drench’d the world with blood;

Too loud the bards their frantic deeds resound,

While blinded mortals ravish’d listen round.

Detested race! yet oft I feel the fire

Which urg’d them on, and mental strength admire;

{Handwritten deletion: Tho} end of handwritten deletion {Handwritten addition: For} end of handwritten addition, wanting strength, none e’er can reach the heights

Where Virtue sits, and Genius wings her flights;

But monstrous crimes in soils luxuriant grow,

Strong powers ill govern’d sink us deep below.

Civilization, as it taught mankind,

To individuals different tasks assign’d:

No more the appetites absorb our cares,

The mind breaks forth, and nobler functions shares;

The polish’d arts with active fancy rise,

And Nature’s mazes draw our wondering eyes;

Genius finds wider scope, and mounting high

Exploring truth dawns with divinity!

Nature has countless wonders strow’d around,

Through air, the pregnant earth, and vast profound;

Where latent truths, evading common view,

Open pure lessons to the thinking few;

Who, truly wise, while fiercer passions die,

Learn the frail state of their mortality.

The finer arts my admiration claim,

As inoffensive paths to boundless fame;

Hence Poesy supreme in glory soars,

Whose searching eye the heavens and earth explores!

Its rapid flight nor space nor time can bound,

The world of spirits, or the pow’rs of sound.

Nor does the painter vain exert his art,

Who, tracing Nature through each varying part,

Arrests the strongest passions in their course,

And gives us time to contemplate their force.

Friend to such arts as Nature’s works pourtray,

No stormy passions cloud my evening ray:

Sorrow in vain has strove to break a heart

Whose wishes ne’er from simple truth depart;

The charm of life, its griefs, its date I know,

And from these lights my inward comforts flow;

For, while my reason Nature’s ways explores,

Religion strengthens, and my soul adores!”

They now had reach’d the confines of the wood,

Where, girt with trees, the stranger’s mansion stood,

To which they bend; the shining moon was gone,

And scatter’d stars beam’d through the heavens alone.

Soft at the door his stick the sire applies,

Which opening quick, light glanc’d against their eyes:

His children ran with eager arms t’ embrace

Their welcome sire, and kiss his much-lov’d face;

Anxious to know what cause could him detain,

In a drear night, chill’d by autumnal rain.

Answering by turns, in pleasing tones he greets,

While he and Holbain ’midst them take their seats.

His daughters tend him with assiduous care,

And cheerful smiles domestic joys declare;

Artless their forms, with modest plainness dress’d,

And education’s power their mein confess’d.

His eldest son the youthful stranger greets,

While he, with smiles, his happy chance repeats;

Two younger boys obey their sister’s word,

And with refreshing viands spread the board.

Now Holbain’s eyes attentively survey

Th’ instructive partner of his rugged way:

Wasted by care, he view’d the placid sire,

His large light eyes still beam’d with mental fire;

Submissively serene his pleasing brow,

His lips, though pale, with genial smiles could glow;

His manners simple, but his thoughts refin’d,

Nor elegance was wanting to his mind.

His guest he welcomes, and with pleasing voice

Prays him to share his board and homely joys:

The artless youth with cheerful smiles partook,

Then round the table threw a happy look.

As he observes the family by turns ;

His fine eyes sparkle, and his bosom burns;

The elder youth, more silent than the rest,

Seem’d with the recent marks of grief impress’d.

One daughter near her father took her place,

Filial affection beaming in her face;

Her features plain, her cheeks no roses die,

No radiance kindles in her modest eye;

But feeling, sense, and purity combine,

A powerful charm, and with expression shine:

Amid her sister’s locks the Graces stray,

Soften’d her eyes, and flush’d her cheeks like May.

Holbain delighted shar’d the sweet repast,

Which filial love, good sense, and beauty grac’d;

Unwilling he at last retir’d to rest,

With love for the whole family impress’d.

Soon as the beams which chace the glowing dawn

Play’d o’er the hills, and mark’d distinct the morn,

He sprung from rest, all eager to survey

The mansion where so many virtues lay:

Delighted he beheld the bless’d retreat,

Where useful plainness, taste, and order meet.

Neat was the bounteous garden, pal’d around,

Which Autumn with her ripening tributes crown’d.

As ’mid the thick-grown trees some fruits he sought,

The elder youth he met, absorb’d, in thought,

Perturb’d within, irregular his pace,

And gushing tears stream’d o’er his strong-mark’d face:

Striving to pass unseen, he met his eyes,

Nor could his heaving breast repress deep sighs.

Holbain confus’d strove quickly to depart

(Sacred he deem’d the feelings of the heart.)

The other, following, said, “With shame I glow,

To be surpris’d in this unmanly woe:

Serene my father each affliction bears,

But larger griefs impel my copious tears:

Fall’n low from state and envied happiness,

Deeply does grief this sanguine heart impress;

Bitter remorse ’mid sad reflections rise,

And joy in vain would shine to glad these eyes;

But listen, while my faultering lips impart

What may excuse this weakness of my heart;

Just woke from madness, thought astonish’d turns,

Feels the dire hand of fate, and inward burns:—

Thoughtful he paus’d;—while Holbain silent pray’d,

And with strong sympathy the youth survey’d:

“Mysterious do thy ways, O God! appear,

But, born to suffer, man must learn to bear.

Divinely pour religion through the soul,

For that alone the passions can controul!”

Each stood absorb’d, till summon’d to repair

Within the hall, the morn’s repast to share;

Th’ obtrusion gave them pain—a while they stay,

Then, walking slow, wip’d the hot tears away.

Holbain again the virtuous father meets,

And with the morning’s salutation greets;

As pensively around his eyes he throws,

Strong to his mind their loss and patience rose:

Then ’mid the family he took his place,

And charm’d beheld the younger daughter’s grace:

More sweet she looks by day, the lovely die

Of her fair cheeks with brightest flowrets vie,

Her azure eyes shot forth a lucid ray,

O’er her white neck her amber ringlets stray.

An anxious wish warm kindled in his breast,

Its noble fire his guileless eyes confess’d;

A pleas’d remembrance of his wealth arose,

His breast benevolent with rapture glows.

Lingering he strove to lengthen out his stay,

And tore himself at last by force away;

But first the sire’s permission did obtain

To visit this delightful spot again;

When friendship strengthening, into union grew,

And happier scenes unfolded to their view.

While joy re-animates the fields,

And spring her odorous treasures yields;

While love inspires the happy grove,

And music breaks from every spray;

I leave the sweet retreat I love

Ere bloss’ming hawthorn greets the May;

Sad destiny! O! let me plaintive pour

O’er the unopen’d bud an unrefreshing shower.

To yonder hills, which bound the sight,

Where blushing eve dissolves in night,

To the wild heath, o’er which the gale

Bleak wafts each sweet perfume of spring,

And to the weed-grown briary vale

Sorrowing the parting lay I sing;

“Sweet flowers of spring, enlivening day,

Nature’s unfolding charms fleet fast away.”

At morn I’ve view’d the glimmering light

Break from the east, and chase the night;

Then stray’d amid the frosty dews,

While soaring larks shrill chanting rise,

And mark’d the thousand varying hues

That streak the glowing morning skies.

“Sweet air of spring, enlivening day,

Nature’s unfolding charms fleet fast away.”

No dasied lawns shall greet my eye,

Reluctant from their sweets I fly;

No more, wild wandering o’er the plains,

I share each innocent delight;

The tinkling flocks, the woodland strains,

The rural dance no more invite.

Sad destiny! O! let me plaintive pour

O’er the unopen’d bud an unrefreshing shower.

From yon fair hill, whose woody crest

The mantling hand of spring has dress’d,

Where gales imbibe the May-perfume,

And strew the blushing almond’s bloom,

I view the verdant plains below,

And lucid streams which gently flow;

The opening foliage, drench’d with showers,

Weep o’er the odorous vernal flowers;

And while before my temper’d eye

From glancing clouds swift shadows fly,

While nature seems serene and bless’d,

And inward concord tunes my breast,

I sigh for those by fortune cross’d,

Whose souls to Nature’s charms are lost.

Whether by love of wealth betray’d,

Absorb’d in all the arts of trade,

Or deep engross’d in mighty schemes,

Toss’d in ambition’s empty dreams,

Or proud amid the learned schools,

Stiffen’d by dull pedantic rules,

Or those who ne’er from forms depart,

The slaves of fashion and of art.

O! lost to bliss! the pregnant air,

The rising sun, the ripening year,

The embrios that on every bush

’Midst the wild notes of songsters blush;

The violet’s scent, the varying hues

Which morn’s light ray strikes ’mid the dews,

To them are lost—involv’d in care,

They cannot feel, they cannot share.

I grieve, when round I cast my eyes,

And feel a thousand pleasures rise,

That this fair earth, by Heaven bestow’d,

(Which human fury stains with blood)

Should teem with joys which reach the heart,

And man be thus absorb’d in art.

Hail, Devon! in thy bosom let me rest,

And pour forth music from my raptur’d breast:

I’ll stray thy meadow’d hills

And plains along,

And loudly sing the widely-varied song,

Tracing thy rivers, and thy bubbling rills.

Oft, rising from the sea, the tempest lours,

And buoy’d on winds the clouds majestic sail,

Which scattering burst in wide and frequent showers,

Swelling the streams which glide thro’ every vale;

Yet are the marshy plains bedeck’d with flowers,

And balmy sweets are borne on every gale.

Where Dart romantic winds its mazy course,

And mossy rocks adhere to woody hills,

From whence each creeping rill its store distils,

And wandering waters join with rapid force;

There Nature’s hand has wildly strewn her flowers,

And varying prospects strike the roving eyes;

Rough-hanging woods o’er cultur’d hills arise;

Thick ivy spreads around huge antic towers,

And fruitful groves

Scatter their blossoms fast as falling showers,

Perfuming ev’ry stream which o’er the landscape
pours.

Along the grassy banks how sweet to stray,

When the mild eve smiles in the glowing west,

And lengthen’d shades proclaim departing day,

And fainting sun-beams in the waters play,

When every bird seeks its accustom’d rest!

How grand, to see the burning orb descend,

And the grave sky wrapp’d in its nightly robes,

Whether resplendent with the starry globes,

Or silver’d by the mildly-solemn moon,

When nightingales their lonely songs resume,

And folly’s sons their babbling noise suspend!

Or when the darkening clouds fly o’er the sea,

And early morning beams a chearful ray,

Waking melodious songsters from each tree;

How sweet beneath each dewy hill

Amid the pleasing shades to stray,

Where nectar’d flowers their sweets distil,

Whose watery pearls reflect the day!

To scent the jonquil’s rich perfume,

To pluck the hawthorn’s tender briars,

As wild beneath each flowery hedge

Fair strawberries with violets bloom,

And every joy of spring conspires!

Nature’s wild songsters from each bush and tree

Invite the early walk, and breathe delight;

What bosom heaves not with warm sympathy

When the gay lark salutes the new-born light?

Hark! where the shrill-ton’d thrush,

Sweet whistling, carols the wild harmony!

The linnet warbles, and from yonder bush

The robin pours soft strains of melody!

Hail, Devon! while through thy lov’d woods I stray,

O! let me loudly pour the grateful lay!

Tell each luxuriant bank where violets grow,

Each mazy vale, where fragrant woodbines wind,

How much of their bewitching charms they owe

To the sweet peace which fills my happy mind.

Ah! where again will it such pleasures find?

O, lov’d society! the heartfelt lay

Is all the humble Muse can now bestow;

Thy praises still I sing, as on I stray,

Writ in my heart amid each strain they flow.

Transcendent beauty moulders ’midst the earth!

Exquisite tints fleet with the morning dews!

All nature teems with life, while blasting death

Dissolves each form; but time again renews,

From the earth’s fullness, fresh perpetual stores:

But O! the individual soul to us is lost!

And unresign’d we weep, by passions tost,

While ’mid the tuneful spheres in bliss it soars!

If there is harmony below;—

If ever melancholy,

Touch’d by melody,

Her blacken’d veil withdrew;

I’ll strike the chords whence solemn numbers flow,

And showers of softening tears shall ease my woe,

Weeping the fairest flower that ever blew!

A flower, whose bloom,

By grief untimely nipp’d,

Was hurried to the tomb:

The spirit, of mortal lustre stripp’d,

Flew from its blighted frame below;

Her virgin virtues were exhal’d above,

While o’er the corpse sad streams of bitter woe

Delug’d the relick of our former love.

My breast, a while your potent sighs restrain,

And as I sing,

Ye scatter’d notes of harmony

Waft here on heavenly wing

The spiritual maid again.

O! let me catch a glimpse by fancy’s ray,

And mentally behold the virgin fair,

Who was from our embraces snatch’d away,

A martyr to despair!

Seraphic, young, and free!—

She smil’d like morning op’ning on the heaven!

Bless’d,

And possess’d

Of earth’s felicity,

To her ’twas given

To solace human cares:

Her eyes, like shoooting stars,

Glanc’d swift as vivid lightning through the frame;

Possess’d of virtuous passion, and belov’d,

Pure, unalloy’d, strong burnt the sacred flame.

O bliss!

To what excess

Dost thou delude the heart!

The ties most holy and most pure

Cannot endure—

We all must part!—

When, bitter tears, will your sad source be dry?

When through the mental world will concord shine?

Man is the wreck of man;—the soul divine

Passion uproots!—

For frail mortality I heave the potent sigh!

Lo! unzon’d passions, brooking no controul,

Transgressing Nature’s laws, rush madly on,

Wounding the sacred mansion of the soul,

And unresign’d, in wild excess grow strong.

With love’s distracting smart,

Which disappointments rash and desperate make,

Lo! Jaspar wild assails the virgin’s heart,

Whose constancy no energy can shake;

Though sweet his lays, as if the Muses sung,

And Love’s warm passion harmoniz’d his tongue.

Repuls’d, his madden’d spirit knew no bounds,

Fierce in despair, to vengeance swift he flies,

And oft his rival’s heart in fancy wounds,

While unrein’d passion flashes from his eyes;

Wilder and wilder still resound his cries,

By furies driven on

To lengths before to him unknown,

Till on his murd’rous sword his rival dies!

Ill-fated son of earth!

At thy dire birth

Heaven fill’d thee as a horn with sad calamity,

To scatter with thy breath

Contagious sorrow round;

Till the dire fiend internal, fraught with death,

Threw thy young glories down!

Sudden despair rush’d on the virgin’s heart,

All that was mortal yielded to the stroke;

Forth the pure spirit broke,

Divided from its grosser earthly part,

And wing’d with love seraphic mounts on high—

O! flattering hope! in immortality

T’ enjoy affections Nature tears away.

All here on earth is subject to decay,

And every day our lessening comforts fly.

Mysterious Power!

To whose dread will I bend,

And tremblingly adore!

Forgive the tears which suffering mortals shed:

Aw’d by our loss, and sacred virtue’s pangs,

Stronger on future blessings we depend,

And learn how weak the thread

On which all human comfort hangs.

Humbled by sorrow, low in earth I bend,

And yield the spotless virgin to the skies;

Nor need revenge provoke the direful steel,

For pierc’d by guilt the breathless culprit lies.

In Gothic times, when feudal laws obtain’d,

And tyranny with superstition reign’d,

Mysterious rites with dazzling shews confin’d

To narrow bounds the darken’d human mind;

Enslaving forms excluded Truth’s pure light,

And wrapt the world in shades of mental night;

Where genius dawn’d it shot forth sanguine gleams,

Its fires infus’d ambition’s frantic dreams;

Scar’d by the sword, fair Freedom distant flew,

And men machines to guilty conquerors grew;

While gloomy ignorance the earth pervades,

And science flies to deep romantic shades:

Yet still the active mind retain’d some power,

The fruit was lost, but stronger bloom’d the flower;

Poetic thoughts and deeds the brave combin’d,

And strong imagination seiz’d the blind.

But when amid those superstitious days

Some potent mind shed truth’s obtrusive rays,

Suspicious priestcraft trembled at the sight,

And strove by horrid crimes t’ eclipse the light.

The fair Ianthe, bright as rising day,

Or the wild blossoms which unfold in May,

A victim fell to those tyrannic times,

Accus’d by priests of supernat’ral crimes,

Because some rays, with native genius fir’d,

Shot through her graceful eyes, and love inspir’d;

While still she dar’d be innocent and free,

With wisdom arm’d, and saint-like chastity.

By virtuous precepts form’d, this lovely maid

Was on the cold Helvetian mountains bred;

But thither chas’d, fled with her aged sire

From civil feuds, and persecutions dire.

They sought some spot where they might freely live,

And undisturb’d fair Nature’s gifts receive.

O, wanderers vain! to seek for certain good,

Though kings and priests had stain’d the earth with
blood;

Whose pride-swoln hearts, of tinsel’d virtues vain,

No feeling for men’s miseries retain;

Hunting for fame, they idly sport with life,

While clashing int’rests urge perpetual strife.

Ianthe’s mind, pure, subtle, and profound,

With genuine force threw light on all around;

Through her clear eyes the fires of fancy glow,

While wisdom flourish’d beauteous on her brow:

Her nerves, with force and quick sensations strung,

Deepen’d her rosy lips, and fir’d her trembling tongue.

A glimpse of truth her native genius caught,

For all around woke analyzing thought;

She saw, abhorrent, persecution’s rod,

And in her heart she sought the unknown God;

The God who lights the heavens, and rules the storm,

Mix’d the pure elements, and gave them form!

Europe was in destructive wars engag’d,

Th’ Imperial Eagle and the Pontiff rag’d;

The sword vast desolation spread around,

And swains unheeded felt the fatal wound:

Selmo (such was Ianthe’s father’s name)

Felt his blood freeze through his enfeebled frame;

Prone to repine, with age fastidious grown,

He made the sorrows of mankind his own.

Seeking for peace, through various realms they sped,

Still hopes of bliss like airy visions fled;

Ianthe saw with grief her father’s mind,

While shunning ills, to Nature’s blessings blind: