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Is this the land of song-ennobled line?

But that Despair and Indignation rose, Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain And told again the story of thy woes; Pour'd forth his lofty strain ?

Told the keen insult of the unfeeling heart; Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, The dread dependence on the low-born mind; Beneath chill Disappointinent's shade

Told every pang, with which thy soul must smart, His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid.

Neglect, and grinning Scorn, and Want combined ! And o'er her darling dead

Recoiling quick, thou bad'st the friend of pain Pity hopeless hurg her head,

Roll the black tide of Death through every freezing While “ 'mid the pelting of that merciless storm,"

vein! Sink to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!

Ye woods! that wave o'er Avon's rocky steep, Sublime of thought, and confident of fame, To Fancy's ear sweet is your murmuring deep! From vales where Avon winds, the Minstrel* camc. For here she loves the cypress wreath 10 weave,

Light-hearted youth! aye, as he hastes along, Watching, with wistful eye, the saddening tints of eve
He meditates the future song,

Here, far from men, amid this pathless grove, llow dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacian foe;

In solemn thought the Minsirel wont to rove,
And while 12 numbers Nowing strong

Like star-beam on the slow sequester'd tide
In eddies whirl, in surges throng,

Lone-glittering, through the high iree branching wide Exulting in the spirits' genial throe,

And here, in Inspiration's eager hour, In tides of power his life-blood seems to flow. When most the big soul feels the mastering power,

These wilds, these caverns roaming o'er,

Round which the screaming sea-gul's soar, And now his cheeks with deeper ardors flame,

With wild unequal steps he pass'd along, His eyes have glorious meanings, that declare

Oft pouring on the winds a broken song: More than the light of outward day shines there,

Anon, upon some rough rock's fearful brow A holier triumph and a sterner aim!

Would pause abrupi--and gaze upon the waves Wings grow within him; and he soars above

belosv. Or Bard's, or Minstrel's lay of war or love. Friend to the friendless, to the Sufferer health, He hears the widow's prayer, the good man's praise ; Who would have praised and loved thee, ere ton

Poor Chatterton! he sorrows for thy fate To scenes of bliss transmutes his fancied wealth,

late. And young and old shall now see lappy days.

Poor Chatterton! farewell! of darkest hues
On many a waste he bids trim gardens rise,
Gives the blue sky to many a prisoner's eyes ;

This chaplet cast I on thy unshaped tomb;
And now in wrath he grasps the patriot steel,

But dare no longer on the sad theme muse,
And her own iron rod he makes Oppression feel.

Lest kindred woes persuade a kindred doom:
For oh! big gall-drops, shook from Folly's wing,

Have blacken'd the fair promise of my spring ;
Sweet Flower of Hope! free Nature's genial child! And the stern Fate transpierced with viewless dart
Thai didst so fair disclose thy early bloom, The last pale Hope that shiver'd at my heart!
Filling the wide air with a rich perfume!
For thee in vain all heavenly aspects smiled;
From the hard world brief respite could they'win-Hence, gloomy thoughts! no more my soul shali

dwell The frost nipp'd sharp without, the canker prey'd On joys that were ! No more endure to weigh within!

The shame and anguish of the evil day,
Ah' where are fled the charms of vernal Grace,
And Joy's wild gleams that lighten'd o'er thy face? Sublime of Hope I seek the cotlaged dell,

Wisely forgetful! O'er the ocean swell
Youth of tumultuous soul, and haggard eye! Where Virtue calm with careless step may stray ,
Thy wasted form, thy hurried steps, I view,
On thy wan forehead starts the lethal dew,

And, dancing to the moon-light roundelay,

The wizard Passions weave a holy spell ! And oh! the anguish of that shuddering sigh!

O Chatterton! that thou wert yet alive! Such were the struggles of the gloomy hour,

Suro thou wouldst spread the canvas to the gale, When Care, of wither'd brow,

And love with us the tinkling team to drive
Prepar'd the poison's death-cold power:

O'er peaceful Freedom's undivided dale ;
Already to thy lips was raised the bowl,
When near thee stood Affection meek

And we, at sober eve, would round thee throng, (Her bosom bare, and wildly pale her cheek,) And greet with smiles the young-eyed Poesy

Hanging, enraptured, on thy stately song !
Thy sullen gaze she bade thee roll

All destly mask'd, as hoar Antiquity.
On scenes that well might melt thy soul ;
Thy native cot she flash'd upon thy view,
Thy native coi, where still, at close of day,

Alas vain Phantasies! the fleeting brood face smiling sate, and listen'd to thy lay ;

Of Woe self-solaced in her dreamy mood ! Thy Sister's shrieks she bade thee hear,

Yet will I love to follow the sweet dream, And mark thy Mother's thrilling tear;

Where Susquehannah pours his untamed stream,
See, see her breast's convulsive throe,

And on some hill, whose forest-frowning side
Her silent agony of woe!

Waves o'er the murmurs of his calmer tide,
Ah! dash the poison'd chalice from thy hand!

Will raise a solemn Cenotaph to thee, And thou hadst dash'd it, at her soft command,

Sweet Harper of time-shrouded Minstrelsy!

And there, soothed sadly by the dirgeful wind, * Avon, a river near Bristol; the birth place of Chatterton. Muse on the sore ills I had left behind.

O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed,
And twine our faery garlands round his head.


V, The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of

When Evening's dusky car, beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. Ata

Crown'd with her dewy star, small distance from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill

, is an excavation called the Pixies" Parlor. Steals o'er the fuding sky in shadowy flight, The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are

Om leaves of aspen trees innumerable ciphers, among which the author discovered his

We tremble to the breeze, own cipher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their Veild from the grosser ken of mortal sight childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter. To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies,

Or, haply, at the visionary hour, during the Summer months of the year 1793 ; one of whom, Along our wildly-bower'd sequester'd walk, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colorless yet We listen to the enamour'd rustic's talk; clear, was proclaimed the Faery Queen. On which occasion Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast, the following intexular Ode was written.

Where young-eyed Loves have built their turtle


Or guide of soul-subduing power 1.

The electric Nash, that from the melting eye
Wurom the untaught Shepherds call

Darts the fond question and the soft reply.
Pixies in their madrigal,
Fancy's children, here we dwell :

Welcome, Ladies ! to our cell.
Ilere the wren of sofiest note

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
Builds its nest and warbles well ;

We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank, Here the blackbird strains his throat;

Or, silent-sandall'd, pay our desier court
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,

Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport II.

Supine he slumbers on a violet bank ;

Then with quaint music hymn the parling gleam When fades the moon all shadowy.pale,

By lonely Otter's sleep-persuading stream; And scuds the cloud before the gale,

Or where his waves with loud unquiet song Ere Morn with living gems bedight

Dash'd o'er the rocky channel froth along ; Purples the East with streaky light,

Or where, his siiver waters smoothed to rest,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews

The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.
Clad in robes of rainbow hues :
Or sport amid the rosy gleam,
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,

While lusty Labor scouting sorrow

Ilence, thou lingerer, Light!
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,

Eve saddens in:o Night.
Who jogs the accustom'd road along, Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view
And paces cheery to her cheering song.

The sombre hours, that round thee stand

With downcast eyes (a duteous band!)

Their dark robes dripping with the heary dew
But not our filmy pinion

Sorceress of the ebon throne!
We scorch amid the blaze of day,

Thy power the Pixies own,
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion

When round thy raven brow
Flashes the fervid ray.

Heaven's lucent roses glow,
Aye from the sultry heat

And clouds, in watery colors drest,
Wc to the cave retreat

Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest :
O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined

What time the pale moon sheds a softer day, With wildest texture, blackend o'er with age :

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive bear : Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

For 'mid the quivering light 't is ours to play,
Beneath whose foliage pale,

Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.
Fann'd by the unfrequent gale,
We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.


Welcome, Ladies ! to the cell

Where the blameless Pixies dwell:
Thither, while the murmuring throng But thou, sweet Nymph! proclaim'd our Faery
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,

Queen, By Indolence and Fancy brought,

With what obeisance meet A youthful Bard, “ unknown to Fame,"

Thy presence shall we greet?
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought, For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh,

Graceful Ease in artless stole,
Gazing with tearful eye,

And while-robed Purity of soul,
As round our sandy grot appear

With Honor's sotier mien ;
Many a rudely-sculptured name

Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,
To pensive Memory dear!

And meek-eyed Pity eloquentiv fair,
Wearing gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue, Whose tearful checks are lovely to the view
We glance before his view :

As snow-drop wet with dew,

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Ah fair delights! that o'er my soul

On Meinory's wing, like shadows fly!

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
I'NDERNEATH a huge oak tree

While Innocence stood smiling by S There was, of swine, a huge company,

But cease, fond leart! this bootless moun : That grunted as they crunch'd the mast:

Those hours on rapid pinions flown
For that was ripe, and fell full fast.

Shall yet reiurn, by Absence crown'd
Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : And scatter lovelier roses round.
One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.
Next came a raven, that liked not such folly :

The Sun who ne'er remits his fires
He belong d, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! On heedless eyes may pour the day:
Blacker was he than blackest jet,

The Moon, that oft from Heaven reures, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet.

Endears her renovated ray. He pick up the acorn and buried it straight

What though she leaves the sky ur blesi
Ly the side of a river both deep and great.

To mourn awhile in murky vest ?
Where then did the Raven go?

When she relames her lovely light,
He went high and low,

We bless the wanderer of the nighi.
Over hill, over dale, did the black Raven go.

Many Au!umns, many Springs
Travell'd he with wandering wings:
Many Suminers, many Winters,

I can't tell half his adventures.

O Thou, wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more At length he came back, and with him a She, Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree. Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flighie They built them a nest in the topmost bough, Bathed in rich anber-glowing floods of light; And young ones they had, and were happy enow. Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, But soon came a woodınan in leathern guise, With western peasants hail the morning ray! Hlis brow, like a pont-house, hung over his eyes. Ah! rather bid the perish'd pleasures move, lled on ax in his hand, not a word he spoke, A shadowy train, across the soul of Love! But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke, O'er Disappointment's wintry desert fling Ai length he brought down the poor Raven's own Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Saririnh oak.

When blushing, like a bride, from llope's i'im His young ones were killd; for they could not

bower depart,

She leap'd, awaken'd by the patiering shower. And thvir mother did die of a broken heart. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,

Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy pet's dream!
'The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever; With fairy wand O bid the Maid arise,
And they floated it down on the course of the river. Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes ;
They saw'd it in planks, and its bark they did strip, As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
And with this tree and others they made a good ship. I came, with Learning's meed not unlesiow'd ;
The ship it was launch'd ; but in sight of the land When as she twined a lanrel round my brow,
Such a storm there did rise as no ship could with. And met my kiss, and half return'd my vow,

O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrill'd heart,
It bulged on a rock, and the waves rush'd in fast : And every nerve confcss'd th’ electric dart.
The old Raven flew round and round, and caw'd to
the blast.

O dear deceit! I see the Maiden rise,

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes! He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls-- When first the lark, high soaring, swells his thro1: Sce! see! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls! Mocks the tired eye, and scaiters the wild note,

Righi glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, I trace her footsteps on the accustom'd lawn, And Death riding hoine on a cloud he did meet, I mark her glancing 'mid the gleam of dawn. And he thank'd him again and again for this treat: When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weone They had taken his all, and Revenge was sweet! And on the lake the silver lusire sleeps,

Arnid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-bcams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

No more your sky-larks melting from the sight
Shall thrill the aituned heari-string with delight-
No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet
With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.
Yet dear to Fancy's eye your varied scene
Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!
Yet sweet to Fancy's ear the warbled song,
That soars on Morning's wings your vales among.

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave,
Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!
Tearful and saddening with the sadden'd blaze,
Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze,
Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend,
Till chill and damp the moonless night descend


Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given,
Form'd by the wondrous alchemy of heaven!
No fairer maid does Love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the boson's snow.
A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye ;
Love lights her stilomin Joy's red nectar dips
His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls
Shall wake the soften d echoes of Heaven's halls !

As late each flower that sweetest blows
I pluck'd, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a Rose
A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath
Of many a lucent hue;
All purple, glow'd his cheek, beneath
Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest;
And placed him, caged within the flower,
On spotless Sara's breast.

O (have I sigh'd) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbor I would seem,
To shield my Love from noontide's sultry beam:
Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the Evening Gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And Nutter my faint pinions on her breast !
On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night,
To soothe my Love with shadows of delight :-
Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!

But when unweeting of the guile
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,
And stamp'd his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight
Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed! he thrillid with deep delight!
Then clapp'd his wings for joy.

“ And O! he cried—“ Of magic kind
What charm this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find
I'll fix my empire here."

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame
Had bask'd beneath the Sun's unclouded fame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast ho scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :-
So toss'd by storms along Life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.


ONE kiss, dear Maid! I said and sigh'dan
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!
Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,
Where Friendship's fix'd star sheds a mellow'd ray,
Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,
Where soften'd Sorrow smiles within her lears;
And Memory, with a Vestal's chaste employ,
Unceusing feeds the lambent flame of joy!

Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's closn
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose.
And hovers o'er the uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;

And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And daris a blush of deeper red!

From the pomp of sceptred state,
From the rebel's noisy hate.
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honor's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And, conscious of the past employ,
Memory, bosom-spring of joy

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose;
O fair ! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accenis, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whisper'd “ No!”
The whisper'd "No"--how little meant !
Sweet falsehood that endears consent !
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the sofi-relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.




Poor little foal of an oppressed race!
I love the languid patience of thy face :
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy raggel coai, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spiriis hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade ?
And (most unlike the naiure of things young)
That earthward sull thy moveless head is hung ?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand achos
* Which patient merit of the unworthy takes ?"
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot-
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

When Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaim'd me man;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely prospect smiled;
Then, Mary! ’mid my lightsome glee
I heaved the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, falong the waves of woe,
My harass'd heart was doom'd to know
The frantic burst of outrage keen,
And the slow pang that gnaws unseen ;
Then shipwreck'd on life's stormy sea,
I heaved an anguish'd Sigh for thee!
Bat soon reflection's power impress d
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer froin my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care
And lull to sleep the Joys that were!
Thy Image may not banish'd be-

Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
June, 1794.

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity—best taught by fellowship of woe!

For much I fear me that he lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of luxury!

Ere Sin could blight or Sorrow fade,
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?

Death came with friendly care ;
It seems to say, " And have I then one friend ?" The opening bud to Heaven convey'd,
Innocent Foal! thon poor despised forlorn!

And bade it blossorn there.
I hail thee brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the dell
Of peace and mild equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his Bride, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S ARMS
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!

ROSS. How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,

FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THIS “MAN OF ROSS." And frisk about, as lamb or kitlen gay! Yea! and more musically sweet to mo

Richer than miser o'er his countless hoards, Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be, Nobler than kings, or king-polluted lords, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest Here dwelt the man of Koss! O Traveller, hear! The aching of pale fashion's vacant breast ! Departed merit claims a reverent tear.

Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health,

With generous joy he view'd his modest wealth;

Ile hears the widow's lieaven-breath'd prayer of DOMESTIC PEACE.


Ile mark'd the shelterd orphan's tearful gaze, Tell me, on what holy ground

Or where the sorrow-shirivell'd captive lay, May Domestic Peace be found ?

Pours the bright blaze of Freedom's noontide ray. Halcyon Danghter of the skies,

Beneath this roof if thy cheer'd moments pasa, Far on fearful wings she flies,

Fill to the good man s naine one grateful gras:

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