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The gipsy's faggot—there we stood and gaz'd; To


the clouds that round thy empire roll, Gaz'd on her sun-burot face with silent awe, And trace its airy precincts in the soul. Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;

Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Imps, in the barn with mousing owlet bred,

Each stamps its image as the other flies! From rified roost at nightly revel fed; [shade, Each, as the various avenues of sense Whose dark eyes flash'd thro' locks of blackest Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd :- Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call,

Controul the latent fibres of the heart. Whose elfin prowess scal’d the orchard-wall. As studious Prospero's mysterious spell As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew,

Conven'd the subject-spirits to his cell; And trac'd the line of life with searching view, Each, at thy call, advances or retires, How throbb’d my fluttering pulse with hopes and As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. To learn the colour of my future years! (fears, Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source,

Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast ! Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, This truth once known-To bless is to be blest! And thro' the frame invisibly convey We led the bending beggar on his way,

The subtle quick vibrations as they play. (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-gray)

Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt,

From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. And on his tale with mute attention dwelt.

What different spheres to human bliss assign'd! As in his scrip we dropt our little store,

What slow gradations in the scale of mind! And wept to think that little was no inore, (live!" Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; He breath'd his prayer,“ Long may such goodness Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! 'Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give.

The adventurous boy, that asks his little share, Angels, when Mercy's mandate wing’d their flight,

And hies from home, with many z rossip's prayer, Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight. Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see

But hark! thro' those old firs, with sullen swell The dear abode of peace and pri p"; The church clock strikes! ye tender scenes, fare- And as he turns, the thatch among + trees, well!

The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace The village common spotted white with sheep, The few fond lines that Time may soon efface.

The church-yard yews round which his fathers On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door, All rouse Reflection's sadly-pleasin,, train, (sleep; Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more,

And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. Each eve we shot the marble thro' the ring,

So, when the mild Tupia dar'd explore

He When the heart danc'd, and life was in its spring;

Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,

And, with the sons of Science, woo'd the gale, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.

That, rising, swellid their strange expanse of sail; The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed, So, when he breath'd his firm yet fond adieu, Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. Borne from his leafy hut, his carved canoe, Oft, as he turned the greensward with his spade,

And all his soul best lov'd-such tears ne shed, He lectur'd every youth that round him play'd; While each soft scene of summer-bearty fled. And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay, Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast, Rous'd him to rival each, the hero of his day. Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast;

Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush! while here alone Till twilight's dewy tints deceiv'd his I search the records of each mouldering stone. And fairy forests fring'd the evening

TE Guides of my life! Instructors of my youth !

So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawı. se day,

MI Who first unveil'd the hallow'd form of Truth; Rose on her couch, and gaz'd her sous away. Whose every word enlighten'd and endear'd; Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering height, In age belov’d, in poverty rever'd;

That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; In Friendship's silent register ye live,

But now the morn with orient hues pourtray'd Nor ask the vain memorial Art can give.

Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade:

S. -But when the sons of peace and pleasure sleep, All touched the talisman's resistless spring, When only sorrow wakes, and wakes to weep, And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing!

T What spells entrance my visionary mind,

Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, With sighs so sweet, with transports so refin'd? As summer-clouds tlash forth electric fire.

1 Ethereal Power ! whose sinile, at noon of night, And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, Recalls the far-fed spirit of delight;

Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. Instils that musing, melancholy mood,

Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot's sigh; Which charms the wise, and elevates the good; This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. Blest Memory, hail! Oh grant the grateful Muse, For this young Foscari, whose hapless fate Her pencil dipt in Nature's living hues,

Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,

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hen exile wore his blooming years away,
sorrow's long soliloquies a prey,
hen reason, justice, vainly urg'd his cause,
-r this he rous'd her sanguinary laws;

ad to return, tho' Hope could grant no more, and chains and torture hail'd him to the shore. And hence the charm historic scenes impart: ence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. Erial forms, in Tempe's classic vale, ance thro' the gloom, and whisper in the gale; wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell, id watch and weep in Eloisa's cell.

w as ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb, e bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom: Tully paus'd amid the wrecks of Time, the rude stone to trace the truth sublime; hen at his feet, in honour'd dust disclos'd, he immortal sage of Syracuse repos'd. nd as his youth in sweet delusion hung, here once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung; 'ho now but meets him musing, when he roves is ruin'd Tusculan's romantic groves?

Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll is moral thunders o'er the subject soul? And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: 'e gaze on ev feature till it lives!

ill the fond lover views the absent maid;
nd the lost fend still lingers in his shade!
y why thensive widow loves to weep,
Then on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep:
remblingly still, she lifts his veil to trace
he father's features in his infant face.

he hoary grandsire smiles the hour away,
Von by the charm of Innocence at play;
le bends to meet each artless burst of joy,
orgets his age, and acts again the boy.


What tho' the iron school of War erase
Cach milder virtue, and each softer grace:
What tho' the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest
Cach geler, finer impulse of the breast;
Still shall this active principle preside;
And wake ( tear, to Pity's self denied.
The intrer Swiss, that guards a foreign shore,
Condemn' climb his mountain-cliffs no more,
And tui.
ear the song so sweetly wild
Twas 1
se cliffs his infant hours beguil'd,
Melts at theng-lost scenes that round him rise,
And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.
Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm:
Say why Vespasian lov'd his Sabine farm;
Why great Navarre, when France and freedom bled,
Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed.
When Diocletian's self-corrected mind
The imperial fasces of a world resign'd,
Say why we trace the labours of his spade,
In calm Salona's philosophic shade.

Say, when contentious Charles renounc'd a throne,
To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown,
What from his soul the parting tribute drew?
What claim'd the sorrows of a last adieu?
The still retreats that sooth'd his tranquil breast,
Ere grandeur dazzled, and its cares oppress'd.

Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows
Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows;
Glows in the tiger's den, the serpent's nest,
On every form of varied life imprest.
The social tribes its choicest influence hail:-
And, when the drum beats briskly in the gale,
The war-worn courser charges at the sound,
And with young vigour wheels the pasture round.
Oft has the aged tenant of the vale
Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale;
Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd,
From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd..
When o'er the blasted heath the day declin'd,
And on the scath'd oak warr'd the winter-wind;
When not a distant taper's twinkling ray
Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way;
When not a sheep-bell sooth'd his listening ear,
And the big rain-drops told the tempest near;
Then did his horse the homeward track descry,
The track that shunn'd his sad, inquiring eye;
And win each wavering purpose to relent,
With warmth so mild, so gently violent,
That his charm'd hand the careless rein resign'd,
And doubts and terrors vanish'd from his mind.

Recall the traveller, whose alter'd form
Has borne the buffet of the mountain-storm;
And who will first his fond impatience meet?
His faithful dog's already at his feet!
Yes, tho' the porter spurn him from the door,
Tho' all, that knew him, know his face no more,
His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each,
With that mute eloquence which passes speech.—
And see, the master but returns to die!
Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly?
The blasts of heav'n, the drenching dews of earth,
The wanton insults of unfeeling mirth,
These, when to guard Misfortune's sacred grave,
Will firm Fidelity exult to brave.

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love? Say, thro' the clouds what compass points her flight? Monarchs have gaz'd, and nations bless'd the sight. Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, Eclipse her native shades, her native skies;"Tis vain! thro' Ether's pathless wilds she goes, And lights at last where all her cares repose.

Sweet bird! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest, And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. When, with the silent energy of grief,. With looks that ask'd, yet dar'd not hope relief, Want, with her babes, round generous Valour clung, To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, "Twas thine to animate her closing eye; Alas! 'twas thine perchance the first to die, Crush'd by her meagre hand, when welcom'd from

the sky.

Hark! the bee winds her small but mellow horn, Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course, And many a stream allures her to its source. 'Tis noon, 'tis night. That eye so finely wrought, Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought,


Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind; And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare.
Its orb so full, its vision so confin'd!

Be thine to meditate an humbler flight,
Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell? When morning fills the fields with rosy light;
Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell? Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim,
With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue

Repose with dignity, with quiet fame. Of varied scents, that charm'd her as she flew ? Here no state-chambers in long line unfold, Hail, Memory, hail! thy universal reign

Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold; Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain. Yet modest ornament, with use combin'd,

Attracts the eye to exercise the mind.

Small change ofscene, small space his home requires, AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

Who leads a life of satisfied desires. When, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind What tho' no marble breathes, no canvas glows, Has class'd the insect tribes of buman kind,

From every point a ray of genius flows! Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,

Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, Its subtle web-work, or its venom'd sting;

That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will;
Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,

And cheaply circulates, thro' distant climes,
Point the green lane that leads thro'fern and flowers; The fairest relies of the purest times.
The shelter'd gate that opens to my field,

Here from the mould to conscious being start
And the white front thro' mingling elms reveal’d. Those finer forms, the miracles of art;
In vain, alas, a village-friend invites

Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, To simple comforts, and domestic rites,

That slept for ages in a second mine; When the gay months of Carnival resume

And here the faithful graver dares to trace Their annual round of glitter and perfume;

A Michael's grandeur, and a Raphael's grace! When London hails thee to its splendid mart, Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art;

And my low roof the Vatican recalls! And, lo! majestic as thy manly song,

Soon as the morning dream my pillow flies, Flows the full tide of human life along.

To waking sense what brighter visions rise! Still must my partial pencil love to dwell

O mark! again the coursers of the sun, On the home-prospects of my hermit cell;

At Guido's call, their round of glory run! The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, Again the rosy hours resume their flight, Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; Obscur'd and lost in floods of golden light! And the brown pathway, that, with careless flow, But could thine erring friend so long forget Sinks, and is lost among the trees below.

(Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret) Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) That here its warmest hues the pencil fings, Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings; Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass- And still the few best lov'd and most rever'd Browsing the hedge by fits, the pannier'd ass ; Rise round the board their social smile endear'd. The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight,

Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight; There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers! And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid,

There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams, With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade. Read antient books, or woo inspiring dreams; Far to the south a mountain vale retires,

And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires; Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung, —Ah, most that art my grateful rapture calls, Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung: Which breathes a soul into the silent walls; And thro' the various year, the various day, Which gathers round the wise of every tongue, What scenes of glory burst, and melt away! All on whose words departed nations hung;

When April verdure springs in Grosvenor-square, Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet; And the furr'd Beauty comes to winter there, Guides in the world, companions in retreat ! She bids old Nature mar the plan no more;

Tho' my thatch'd bath no rich Mosaic knows, Yet still the seasons circle as before.

A limpid spring with unfelt current flows. Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays,

Emblem of life! which, still as we survey, Tho'moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze; Seems motionless, yet ever glides away! As soon the skylark pours his matin song,

The shadowy walls record, with attic art, Tho' evening lingers at the mask so long.

The strength and beauty that its waves impart. There let her strike with momentary ray,

Here Thetis, bending, with a mother's fears As tapers shine their little lives away;

Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. There let her practice from herself to steal,

There, Venus, rising, shrinks with sweet surprise, And look the happiness she does not feel;

As her fair self reflected seems to rise ! The ready smile and bidden blush employ

Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife, At Faro-routs, that dazzle to destroy ;

And all the dull impertinence of life,' Fan with affected ease the essenc'd air,

These eyelids open to the rising ray,

And close, when Nature bids, ai close of day. Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,
Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows; To hail our coming. Not a step prophane
There noon-day levees call from faint repose. Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain ;
Here the flush'd wave flings back the parting light; And, while the frugal banquet glows reveald,
There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. Pure and unbought,—the natives of my field;
When from his classic dreams the student steals, While blushing fruits thro' scatter'd leaves invite,
Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels, Still clad in bloom, and veil'd in azure light;-
To muse unnotic'd-while around him press With wine, as rich in years as Horace sings,
The meteor-forms of equipage and dress;

With water, clear as his own fountain flings,
Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand

The shifting sideboard plays its humbler part, A very stranger in his native land!

Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. And (tho' perchance of current coin possest,

Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught And modern phrase by living lips exprest)

With mental light, and luxury of thought, Like those blest youths, forgive the fabling page, My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine !) Whose blameless lives deceiv'd a twilight age, Careless my course, yet not without design. Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner's spade So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, Unclos'd the cavern, and the morning play'd. The light raft dropping with the silent tide; Ah, what their strange surprise, their wild delight! So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, New arts of life, new manners meet their sight! The busy people wing their various flight, In a new world they wake, as from the dead; Culling unnumber'd sweets from nameless flowers, Yet doubt the trance dissolv'd, the vision fled ! That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,

Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge Caught thro' St. James's groves at blush of day; Long, in this shelter'd scene of letter'd talk, [health! Ere its full voice the choral anthem Alings With sober step repeat the pensive walk;

Thro' trophied tombs of heroes and of kings. Nor scorn, when graver triflings fail to please, Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, The cheap amusements of a mind at ease;

Tho' skill'd alike to dazzle and to please ; Here every care in sweet oblivion cast,

Tho' each gay scene be search'd with anxious eye, And many an idle hour-not idly pass’d.

Nor thy shut door be pass'd without a sigh. No tuneful echoes, ambush'd at my gate,

If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more,
Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, ex-
Vain of its various page, no Album breathes Invoke the Lares of his lov'd retreat, Cplore;
The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet;
Yet some good Genii o'er my hearth preside, Then be it said, (as, vain of better days,
Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide; Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise)
And there I trace, when the grey evening lours, “ Unknown he liv'd, unenvied, not unblest;
A silent chronicle of happier hours !

Reason his guide, and happiness his guest.
When Christmas revels in a world of snow, In the clear mirror of his moral page,
And bids her berries blush, her carols flow;

We trace the manners of a purer age.
His spangling shower when frost the wizard flings; His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught,
Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings, Scorn'd the false lustre of licentious thought.
O'er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves, -One fair asylum from the world he knew,
And gems with icicles the sheltering eaves;

One chosen seat, that charms with various view! -Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain) What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes, Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas ! in vain. Screen'd from the arrowy North ; and duly hies Thro' each he roves, the tenant of a day, To meet the morning-rumour as it flies,

And, with the swallow, wings the year away!"
To range the murmuring market-place, and view
The motley groups that faithful Teniers drew.

When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro' the
And her wild music triumphs on the gale, (vale,

I. 1.
Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile;

Hence, to the realms of night, dire Demon, hence! Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,

Thy chain of adamant can bind Framing loose numbers, till declining day

That little world, the human mind, Thro' the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; And sink its noblest powers to impotence. Till the west-wind leads on the twilight hours,

Wake the lion's loudest roar, And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers. Clot his shaggy made with gore, Nor boast, O Choisy! seat of soft delight,

With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine ; The secret charm of thy voluptuous night.

Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine ! (breast, Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power! Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour,

Whence, thro' her rainbow-shower, soft pity Thy closet-supper, serv'd by hands unseen,


Has clos'd the heart each godlike virtue bless'd, Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; To all the silent pleadings of his child.

And bright-ey'd Painting stamps the image of the At thy command he plants the dagger deep,

[mind. At thy command exults, tho' Nature bids him weep!

II. 2.

Round their rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise ! I. 2.

A timbrell’d anthem swells the gale, When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth,

And bids the God of Thunders hail; Thou darted'st thy huge head from high, With lowings loud the captive God replies. Night wav'd her banners o'er the sky,

Clouds of incense woo thy smile,
And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth.

Scaly monarch of the Nile!
Rocking on the billowy air,

But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee?
Ha! what withering phantoms glare!

Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea. As blows the blast with many a sudden swell, Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore, At each dead pause, what shrill-ton'd voices yell! Lock'd up in characters as dark as night? The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb,

Whateye those long, long labyrinths dare explore, Points at the murderer's stab, and shudders by; To which the parted soul oft wings her light; In every grove is felt a heavier gloom,

Again to visit her cold cell of clay, [cay? That veils its genius from the vulgar eye: Charm'd with perennial sweets, and smiling at de

The spirit of the water rides the storm,
And, thro' the mist, reveals the terrors of his form.

II. 3.

On yon hoar summit, mildly bright
I. 3.

With purple ether's liquid light,
O'er solid seas, where winter reigns,

High o'er the world, the white-rob'd Magi gaze
And holds each mountain-wave in chains, On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire;
The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his deer

Start at each blue, portentous blaze,
By glistering star-light thro' the snow,

Each flame that fits with adverse spire.
Breathes softly in her wondering ear

But say, what sounds my ear invade
Each potent spell thou bad'st him know.

From Delphi's venerable shade?
By thee inspir’d, on India's sands,

The temple rocks, the laurel waves!
Full in the sun the Bramin stands;

“ The God! the God!" the Sybil cries.
And, while the panting tigress hies

Her figure swells! she foams, she raves! . To quench her fever in the stream,

Her figure swells to more than mortal size!
His spirit laughs in agonies,

Streams of rapture roll along,
Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam.

Silver notes ascend the skies:
Mark who mounts the sacred pyre,

Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song,
Blooming in her bridal vest:

Oh catch it, ere it dies!
She hurls the torch! she fans the fire!

The Sybil speaks, the dream is o'er,
To die is to be blest:

The holy harpings charm no more.
She clasps her lord to part no more,

In vain she checks the God's controul!
And, sighing, sinks! but sinks to soar.

His madding spirit fills her frame,
O’ershadowing Scotia's desert coast,

And moulds the features of her soul,
The Sisters sail in dusky state,

Breathing a prophetic flame.
And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost,

The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose!
Weave the airy web of fate;

And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows. While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral

III. I. train.

Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead!
II. 1.

Rites thy brown oaks would never dare
Thou spak’st, and lo! a new creation glow'd.

Ev'n whisper to the idle air;
Each unhewn mass of living stone

Rites that have chain's old Ocean on bis bed.
Was clad in horrors not its own,

Shiver'd by thy piercing glance,
And at its base the trembling nations bow'd.

Pointless falls the hero's lance.
Giant Error, darkly grand,

Thy magic bids the Imperial eagle fly,
Grasp'd the globe with iron hand.

And blasts the laureate wreath of victory.
Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light Hark, the bard's soul inspires the vocal string!
Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height. At every pause dread Silence hovers o'er:
The statue, waking with immortal powers,

While murky Night sails round on raven-wing, Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the Deepening the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar; spheres;

Chas'd by the morn from Snowdon's awful brow, The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, Where late she sate and scowl'd on the black wave And braves the efforts of a host of years.



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