SONGS OF THE PIXIES.

At a

The PIXIES, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. small distance from a village in that county, half way up a woodcovered hill, is an excavation, called the Pixies' Parlour. The roots of old trees form its ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.

To this place the Author conducted a party of young Ladies, during the Summer months of the year 1793; one of whom, of stature elegantly small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Fairy Queen: On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.

I.

WHOм the untaught Shepherds call

PIXIES in their madrigal, Fancy's children, here we dwell:

Welcome, LADIES! to our cell,

Here the wren of softest note

Builds its nest and warbles well; Here the blackbird strains his throat: Welcome, LADIES! to our cell.

II.

When fades the moon all shadowy-pale
And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Ere Morn with living gems bedight
Purples the East with streaky light,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dews
Clad in robes of rainbow hues

Richer than the deepened bloom

That glows on Summer's lily-scented plume:

Or sport amid the rosy gleam
Soothed by the distant-tinkling team,
While lusty Labour scouting sorrow
Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,
Who jogs the accustomed road along,
And paces cheery to her cheering song.

III.

But not our filmy pinion

We scorch amid the blaze of day,
When Noontide's fiery-tressed minion
Flashes the fervid ray.

Aye from the sultry heat

We to the cave retreat

O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined

With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age:
Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,
Beneath whose foliage pale

Fanned by the unfrequent gale

We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage.

IV.

Thither, while the murmuring throng
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,
A youthful BARD, "unknown to Fame,"
Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought,
And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh
Gazing with tearful eye,

As round our sandy grot appear
Many a rudely sculptured name
To pensive Memory dear!

Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue
We glance before his view:

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

V.

When EVENING's dusky car
Crowned with her dewy star

Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight;
On leaves of aspen trees

We tremble to the breeze

Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.
Or, haply, at the visionary hour,

Along our wildly-bowered, sequestered walk,
We listen to the enamoured rustic's talk ;
Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,
Where young-eyed LOVES have built their turtle nest;
Or guide of soul-subduing power

The electric flash, that from the melting eye
Darts the fond question and the soft reply.

VI.

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale
We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;
Or, silent-sandal'd, pay our defter court
Circling the SPIRIT of the WESTERN GALE,
Where, wearied with his flower-caressing sport,
Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;

Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam,
By lonely OTTER's sleep-persuading stream;

Or where his wave with loud unquiet song
Dashed o'er the rocky channel froth along ;
Or where, his silver waters smoothed to rest,
The tall tree's shadow sleeps upon his breast.

VII.

Hence! thou lingerer, LIGHT!

EVE saddens into NIGHT.

Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view
The SOMBRE HOURS, that round thee stand
With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!)
Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.
SORCERESS of the ebon throne!

Thy power the PIXIES Own,
When round thy raven brow

Heaven's lucent roses glow,

And clouds, in watery colours drest, Float in light drapery o'er thy sable vest:

What time the pale moon sheds a softer day Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam : For mid the quivering light 'tis our's to play, Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.

VIII.

Welcome, LADIES! to the cell

Where the blameless PIXIES dwell: