His rosy portress thus the flame-rob'd god, Ere his bright wheels have mark'd the heav'nly road, Accosts, "O leave the couch of languid age, "An hoary spouse*, in life's declining stage, "Befits not thee! Behold! thy hunter boy "On yonder hill expects the coming joy!" Love's crimson glow detects the conscious dame, Yet fast she plies her steeds, and hastes to crown her flame. EARTH Smiles in youthful pomp. She flings aside Her mourning stole; and, like a youthful bride, Displays the allurements of her vernal zone, And, softly smiling, courts the distant sun : Nor courts in vain, the queen's imperial charms Subdue the monarch, and his pride disarms. Her nuptial crown she wears, a rosy wreath, And all Arabia whispers in her breath. Hark! how she wooes him from yon spicy grove, (A scene, like Cybele's recess of love) Her handmaid Flora decks the wedded fair, And adds new charms to her majestic air. Like Proserpine, in Enna's vales beheld' She seems, when gloomy Dis his love reveal'd. Hark! how the vernal gales invite thy stay, And every amorous breeze their queen betray! From their soft bed, in India's spicy grove They breathe of Paradise, and whisper love: No dowerless maid invites her lover's smiles, Nor with blank penury thy suit beguiles: Besides her wealth, in boundless prospect seen, Her flowery chaplet, and her vest of green, Beneath her blue hills, and her pendent woods, Deep in the bosom of her swelling floods, She boasts her untold subterranean stores, Her mineral chambers, and her gemmy floors. *Tithonus, husband to Aurora.
SWEET is the balmy evening hour;
And mild the glow-worms' light;
And soft the breeze that sweeps the flower,
With pearly dew-drops bright.
I love to loiter on the hill,
And catch each trembling ray ;; Fair as they are they mind me still Of fairer things than they.
What is the breath of closing flowers,
But feeling's gentlest sigh?
What are the dew-drops' crystal showers,
But tears from Pity's eye?
What are the glow-worms by the rill
But fancy's flashes gay?
I love them, for they mind me still
Of one more dear than they,
THOU
rose of
my love! from thy slumber arise!
The dawn from the orient empurples the skies;
The lark the blue regions of ether explores,
And exultingly trills his wild notes as he soars;
Now they sink in soft murmurs, now rapid and clear
All their melodies pour on the wondering ear;
The drops of the dew, liquid gems of the morn,
Dart their tremulous rays from the white-blossom'd
thorn,
And opening its leaves to the breath of the gales,
Each bloom and each floret its fragrance exhales.
But nor odours, nor songs, nor bright hues can impart
A pleasure to gladden thy lover's fond heart,
When absent from thee he still thinks on thy charms;
And sighs to be folded once more in thine arms!
Then, rose of my love! in thy beauty appear,
And the songs and the odours again will be dear;
The beams of the dawn with fresh glory be crown'd,
And the soul of delight breathe enchantment around.
HARK to that shout! the Briton cheers!
On ocean's breast a foe appears;
The sons of Gallia meet from far
The signal of a desp❜rate war,
They feel 'tis no inglorious strife,
That knell was rung for many a life;
But of superior numbers vain,
They give them back their shout again :
Near and more near the vessels drew,
The hostile bands appear'd in view
With beating heart, and vengeful eye,
That flash'd the hope of victory!
His signal shrill the boatswain plies,
Swift to his post each seaman flies;
Yet gallant Phelan, loth to part,
Still held his Anna to his heart,
And folded in a fond embrace
His infant boy, whose beaming face
Seem'd in new joy and smiles to glow,
Unconscious of his parents' woe.
But Phelan must delay no more,
For hark, the deep-ton'd cannons roar,
A proud defiance England spoke
In burst of thunder, flame, and smoke;
With peal as loud the Gauls reply,
Then both the work of slaughter ply,
While many a gallant seaman dies,
And many a hero gasping lies!
But shriek and groan are heard no more,
Lost in the cannons' louder roar.
Poor Anna leaves the plaint of woe,
And busy in the hold below
The dying sooths, the wounded tends,
And pity, with assistance, blends!
Her husband's friend now meets her sight,
Borne bleeding from the thickest fight;
But while she calms the suff'rer's breast,
And lulls, with hope, his pangs to rest,
She hears the wounded messmate tell,
How, by his side, her Phelan fell,
And on the deck now bleeding lies,
With none to close his dying eyes!
She heard no more-with panting breath
She rushed through thunder, flames, and death,
And caught her Phelan from the ground,
(Where many a seaman dropt around);
She clasp'd him dying to her heart,
Her voice, her touch could life impart,
His eye shone with a moment's light,
Then heavily it clos'd in night;
He rais'd his head to meet her kiss,
And then his soul would part in bliss-
Oh tale! too dreadful to repeat!
Ere yet their mournful lips could meet,
A ball came arm'd with ruthless sway,
Her bending head was torn away!
Ere Phelan's spirit wing'd its flight,
Again his eyes unclos'd to light;
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