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Around the glow-worm's glimmering bank, | Beneath yon ruin'd abbey's moss-grown piles No Fairies run in fiery rank ;
Oft let me sit, at twilight hour of eve, Nor brush, half-seen, in airy tread,
Where through some western window the pale Moon The violet's unprinted head.
Pours her long-level'd rule of streaming light; But Fancy, from the thickets brown,
While sullen sacred silence reigns around, The glades that wear a conscious frown,
Save the lone screech-owl's note, who builds his bow'r The forest oaks, that, pale and lone,
Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp, Nod to the blast with hoarser tone,
Or the calm breeze, that rustles in the leaves Rough glens, and sullen water-falls,
Of haunting ivy, that with mantle green Her bright ideal offspring calls.
Invests some wasted tow'r. Or let me tread So by some sage enchanter's spell,
Its neighb'ring walk of pines, where mus'd of old (As old Arabian fablers tell,)
The cloister'd brothers : through the gloomy void Amid the solitary wild,
That far extends beneath their ample arch Luxuriant gardens gaily smil'd :
| As on I pace, religious horror wraps From sapphire rocks the fountains stream'd, My soul in dread repose. But when the world With golden fruit the branches beam'd;
Is clad in Midnight's raven-color'd robe, Fair forms, in every wondrous wood,
'Mid hollow charnel let me watch the flame Or lightly tripp'd, or solemn stood ;
of taper dim, shedding a livid glare And oft, retreating from the view,
O'er the wan heaps ; while airy voices talk Betray'd, at distance, beauties new :
Along the glimm'ring walls; or ghostly shape, While gleaming o'er the crisped bowers
At distance seen, invites with beck'ning hand Rich spires arose, and sparkling towers.
My lonesome steps, through the far-winding vaults If bound on service new to go,
Nor undelightful is the solemn noon The master of the magic show
Of night, when haply wakeful from my couch His transitory charm withdrew,
I start: lo! all is motionless around! Away th' illusive landscape flew :
Roars not the rushing wind; the song of men
And every benst, in mute oblivion lie;
To then how fearful is it to reflect,
That through the still globe's awful solitude, And a bare heath's unfruitful plain
No being wakes but me! till stealing sleep
My drooping temples bathes in opiate dews.
To the fell house of Busyrane, he led
Th' unshaken Britomart; or Milton knew,
When in abstracted thought he first conceiv'd
All Heav'n in tumult, and the seraphim
Come tow'ring, arm'd in adamant and gold.
Let others love soft Summer's evening smiles, Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,
As list'ning to the distant water-fall,
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms.
Then, when the sullen shades of ev’ning close, Thou hear'st with howling winds the beating rain Where through the room a blindly glimm’ring bam And drifting hail descend; or if the skies
The dying embers scatter, far remote (roof Unclouded shine, and through the blue serene From Mirth's mad shouts, that through th'illumin'd Pale Cynthia rolls her silver-axled car,
Resound with festive echo, let me sit, Whence gazing stedfast on the spangled vault Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge. Raptur'd thou sitt'st, while murmurs indistinct Then let my thought contemplative explore Of distant billows soothe thy pensive ear
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights, With hoarse and hollow sounds; secure, self-blest, The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, There oft thou listen'st to the wild uproar
As through the wilderness of life we rove. of fleets encount'ring, that in whispers low
This sober hour of silence will unmask Ascend the rocky summit, where thou dwell'st False Folly's smile, that like the dazzling spells Remote from man conversing with the spheres! Of wily Comus cheat the unweeting eye O lead me, queen sublime, to solemn glooms With blear illusion, and persuade to drink Congenial with my soul; to cheerless shades, |That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair To ruin'd seats, to twiligh: cells and bow'rs, Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. Where thoughtful Melancholy loves to muse, Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught Her fav'rite midnight haunts. The laughing scenes Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath of purple Spring, where all the wanton train | Few know that elegance of soul refin'd, Of Smiles and Graces seem to lead the dance | Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy In sportive round, while from their hand they show'r From Melancholy's scenes, than the dull pride Ambrosial blooms and Now'rs, no longer charm;. Of tasteless splendor and magnificence Tempé, no more I court thy balmy breeze, Can e'er afford. Thus Eloise, whose mind Adieu, green vales! ye broider'd meads, adieu! Had languish'd to the pangs of melting love,
More genuine transports found, as on some tomb Ye youths of Albion's beauty-blooming isle.
Whose magic wont to soothe your soften'd souls! Mus'd a veil'd votaress; than Flavia feels,
O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt As through the mazes of the festive ball,
To Melody's assuasive voice; to bend Proud of her conquering charms, and beauty's blaze, Th' uncertain step along the midnight mead, She floats amid the silken sons of dress,
Aud pour your sorrows to the pitying Moon, And shines the fairest of th' assembled fair. | By many a slow trill from the bird of woe
When azure noontide cheers the dædal globe, of: interrupted ; in embow'ring woods And the blest regent of the golden day
By darksome brook to muse, and there forget Rejoices in his bright meridian tower,
The solemn dullness of the tedious world. How oft my wishes ask the night's return,
While Fancy grasps the visionary fair: That best befriends the melancholy mind!
And now no more th'abstracted ear attends Hail, sacred Night! thou too shalt share my song! The water's murm'ring lapse, th' entranced Eye Sister of ebon-sceptred Hecate, hail!
Pierces no longer through th' extended rows Whether in congregated clouds thou wrapp'st of thick-rang'd trees ; till haply from the depth Thy viewless chariot, or with silver crown
The woodman's stroke, or distant tinkling team, Thy beaming head encirclest, ever hail!
Or heifers rustling through the brake, alarmas What though beneath thy gloom the sorceress-strain, Th'illuded sense, and mars the golden dream Far in obscured baunt of Lapland moors,
These are delights that absence drear has made With rhymes uncouth the bloody caldron bless; Familiar to my soul, e'er since the form Though Murder wan beneath thy shrouding shade of young Sapphira, beauteous as the Spring, Summons her slow-ey'd vot'ries to devise
When from her vi'let-woven couch awak'd Of secret slaughter, while by one blue lamp
By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek In hideous conference sits the list'ning band, Graceful she lifts, and blushing from her box And start at each low wind, or wakeful sound: Issues to clothe in gladsome-glistering green What though thy stay the pilgrim curseth oft, The genial globe, first met my dazzled sight; As all benighted in Arabian wastes
These are delights unknown to minds profane, He hears the wilderness around him howl
And which alone the pensive soul can tasie. With roaming monsters, while on his hoar head The taper'd choir, at the late hour of prayil The black-descending tempest ceaseless beats; Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice Yet more delightful to my pensive mind
The many-sounding organ peals on high, Is thy return, than blooming Morn's approach, The clear slow-dittied chant, or varied hymo, Ev'n than, in youthful pride of opening May, Till all my soul is bathed in ecstasies, When from the portals of the saffron east
And lapp'd in paradise. Or let me sit She sheds fresh roses, and ambrosial dews.
Far in sequester'd aisles of the deep dome, Yet not ungrateful is the Morn's approach, There lonesome listen to the sacred sounds, When dropping wet she comes, and clad in clouds, Which, as they lengthen through the Gothic fann While through the damp air scowls the lowering In hollow murmurs reach my ravish'd ear. South,
Nor when the lamps expiring yield to nigbt. Blackening the landscape's face, that grove and hill And solitude returns, would I forsake In formless vapors undistinguish'd swim :
The solemn mansion, but attentive mark Th'amicted songsters of the sadden'd groves The due clock swinging slow with sweepF STT. Hail not the sullen gloom : the waving elms Measuring time's flight with momentary sound. That, hoar through time and rang'd in thick array, Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind Inclose with stately row some rural hall,
With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse, Are saute, nor echo with the clamors hoarse Divine Melpomene, sweet Pity's nurse, of rooks rejoicing on their airy boughs ;
Queen of the stately slep, and flowing pall. While to the shed the dripping poultry crowd, Now let Monimia mourn with streaming eres A mournful train : secure the village-hind
Her joys incestuous, and polluted lore ; Hangs o'er the crackling blaze, nor tempts the storm; Now let soft Juliet in the gaping tomb Fix'd in th' unfinish'd furrow rests the plow : Print the last kiss on her true Romeo's lips Rings not the high wood with enliven'd shouts His lips yet reeking from the deadly draught: Of early hunter: all is silence drear;
Or Jaffier kneel for one forgiving look. And deepest sadness wraps the face of things. Nor seldom let the Moor on Desdemone Through Pope's soft song though all the Graces Pour the misguided threats of jealous rage. breathe,
By soft degrees the manly torrent steals And happiest art adorn his Attic page;
From my swoln eyes; and at a brother's woe Yet does my mind with sweeter transport glow, My big heart melts in sympathizing tears. As at the root of mossy trunk reclin'd,
What are the splendors of the gaudy court, In magic Spenser's wildly-warbled song
Its tinsel trappings, and its pageant pomps!
To me far happier seems the banish'd lond,
Who pines all lonesome, in the chambens hoar Upon the bosom bright of silver Thames
Of some high castle shut, whose windows dim Launches in all the lustre of brocade,
In distant ken discover trackless plains, Amid the splendors of the laughing Sun.
Where Winter ever whirls his icy car! The gay description palls upon the sense,
While still repeated objects of his view, And coldly strikes the mind with feeble bliss. The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires,
That crown the solitary dome, arise ;
Or sunk magnificence! a blended scene While from the topmost turret the slow clock, Of moles, fanes, arches, domes, and palaces, Far heard along th' inhospitable wastes,
Where, with his brother Horror, Ruin sits. With sad-returning chime awakes new grief; O come then, Melancholy, queen of thought! Ev'n he far happier seems than is the proud, O come with saintly look, and stedfast step, The potent satrap, whom he left behind
From forth thy cave embower'd with mournful yew 'Mid Moscow's golden palaces, to drown
Where ever to the curfew's solemn sound In ease and luxury the laughing hours.
List'ning thou site'st, and with thy cypress bind Illustrious objects strike the gazer's mind
Thy votary's hair, and seal him for thy son. With feeble bliss, and but allure the sight,
But never let Euphrosyné beguile Nor rouse with impulse quick th' un feeling heart. With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind, Thus seen by shepherds from Hymettus' brow, Nor in my path her primrose-garland cast. What dædal landscapes smile! here palmy groves, Though 'mid her train the dimpled Hebe bare Resounding once with•Plato's voice, arise,
Her rosy bosom to th' enamour'd view; Amid whose umbrage green her silver head
Though Venus, mother of the Smiles and Loves, Th' unfading olive lifts: here vine-clad hills And Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, in citron-bow'r Lay forth their purple store, and sunny vales With her on nectar-streaming fruitage feast : In prospect vast their level laps expand,
What though 'tis hers to calm the low'ring skies, Amid whose beauties glistering Athens tow'rs. And at her presence mild th' embattled clouds Though through the blissful scenes Ilissus roll Disperse in air, and o'er the face of Heav'n His sage-inspiring flood, whose winding marge New day diffusive gleam at her approach? The thick-wove laurel shades; though roseate Morn Yet are these joys that Melancholy gives, Pour all her splendors on th' empurpled scene; Than all her witless revels happier far; Yet feels the hoary hermit truer joys,
These deep-felt joys, by Contemplation taught, As from the cliff, that o'er his cavern hangs, | Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail! He views the piles of fallin Persepolis
From thee began, auspicious maid, my song, In deep arrangement hide the darksome plain. With thee shall end; for thou art fairer far Unbounded waste! the mould'ring obelisk
Than are the nymphs of Cirrha's mossy grot; Here, like a blasted oak, ascends the clouds ; To loftier rapture thou canst wake the thought, Here Parian domes their vaulted halls disclose Than all the fabling poet's boasted pow'rs. Horrid with thorn, where lurks th' unpitying thief, Hail, queen divine! whom, as tradition tells, Whence flits the twilight-loving bat at eve,
Once in his evening walk a Druid found, And the deaf adder wreathes her spotted train, Far in a hollow glade of Mona's woods ; The dwellings once of elegance and art.
And piteous bore with hospitable hand Here temples rise, amid whose hallow'd bounds To the close shelter of his oaken bow'r. Spires the black pine, while through the naked street, There soon the sage admiring mark'd the dawn Once haunt of tradeful merchants, springs the grass : Of solemn musing in your pensive thought; Here columns heap'd on prostrate columns, torn For when a smiling babe, you lov'd to lie From their firm base, increase the mould’ring mass. Oft deeply list’ning to the rapid roar Far as the sight can pierce, appear the spoils lor wood-hung Meinai, stream of Druids old.
William Mason, a poet of some distinction, born verse, made its appearance, of which the fourth and in 1725, was the son of a clergyman, who held the concluding book was printed in 1781. Its purpose living of Hull. He was admitted first of St. John's was to recommend the modern system of natural or College, and afterwards of Pembroke College, Cam- landscape gardening, to which the author adheres bridge, of the latter of which he was elected Fel- with the rigor of exclusive taste. The versitication low in 1747. He entered into holy orders in 1754, is formed upon the best models, and the description, and, by the favor of the Earl of Holderness, was in many parts, is rich and vivid ; but a general air presented to the valuable rectory of Ashton, York- of stiffness prevented it from attaining any conshire, and became Chaplain to His Majesty. Some siderable share of popularity. Some of his following poems which he printed gave him reputation, which poetic pieces express his liberal sentiments on politie received a great accession from his dramatic poemi cal subjects; and when the late Mr. Pitt came into of - Elfrida." By this piece, and his " Caractacus," power, being then the friend of a free constitution, which followed, it was his aim to attempt the resto- Mason addressed him in an “ Ode." containing many ration of the ancient Greek chorus in tragedy ; but patriotic and manly ideas. But teing struck with this is so evidently an appendage of the infant and aların at the unhappy events of the French revolu. imperfect state of the drama, that a pedantic at- tion, one of his latest pieces was a “ Palinody to tachment to the ancients could alone suggest its re-Liberty." He likewise revived, in an improved vival. In 1756, he published a small collection of form, and published, Du Fresnoy's Latin poem on “Odes," which were generally considered as display the Art of Painting, enriching it with additions foring more of the artificial mechanism of poetry, than nished by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and with a metrical of its genuine spirit. This was not the case with version. Few have been better executed than this his “Elegies," published in 1763, which, abating which unites to great beauties of language a correct some superfluity of ornament, are in general marked representation of the original. His tribute to the with the simplicity of language proper to this spe- memory of Gray, being an edition of his poems cies of composition, and breathe noble sentiments of with some additions, and Memoirs of his Lite and freedom and virtue. A collection of all his poems Writings, was favorably received by the public. which he thought worthy of preserving, was pub-l Mason died in April, 1797, at the age of seventy lished in 1764, and afterwards went through several two, in consequence of a mortification produced by editions. He had married an amiable lady, who a hurt in his leg. A tablet has been placed to his died of a consumption in 1767, and was buried in memory in Poets' Corner, in Westminster Abber, the cathedral of Bristol, under a monument, on His character in private life was exemplary for which are inscribed some very tender and beautiful worth and active benevolence, though not witbout lines, by her husband.
a degree of stateliness and assumed superiority of In 1772, the first book of Mason's “ English Gar-manner. da," a didactic and descriptive poem, in blank!
ODE TO MEMORY.
MOTHER of Wisdom! thou, whose sway
Accept this votive verse. Thy reign
Nor place can fix, nor power restrain.
The senses thee spontaneous serve,
That wake, and thrill through ev'ry nerve.
Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade
Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume,
But swift to thee, alive and warm,
Devolves each tributary charm :
While every power in Fancy's clime,
Each gem of old heroic time,
Hail, Mem'ry! hail. Behold, I lead
To that high shrine the sacred maid:
She comes, and lo, thy realms expand'
Full in the midst, and o'er thy num'rous train
As now o'er this lone beach I stray,
Thy fav'rite swain* oft stole along,
And artless wove his Dorian lay,
Far from the busy throng.
Thou heard'st him, goddess, strike the tender string, The cool gale breathes, the silent show'rs descend. And bad'st his soul with bolder passions move : Or, if bleak Winter, frowning round,
Soon these responsive shores forgot to ring,
See, visionary suns arise
Pointed with satire's keenest steel,
The shafts of wit he darts around ; Through shadowy brakes light glance the sparkling
Ev'nt mitred dullness learns to feel,
And shrinks beneath the wound.
In awful poverty his honest Muse
Walks forth vindictive through a venal land :
In vain corruption sheds her golden dews, Mimics the feather'd chorus o'er her head.
In vain oppression lifts her iron hand;
He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone,
Bids lust and folly tremble on the throne.
Behold, like him, immortal maid,
The Muses' vestal fires I bring : When“ fall'n on evil days and evil tongues ;" is When darkness, brooding on thy sight,
Here, at thy feet, the sparks I spread: on Exil'd the soy'reign lamp of light;
Propitious wave thy wing, Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse ?
And fan them to that dazzling blaze of song, What friends were thine, save Mem'ry and the Muse?
Which glares tremendous on the sons of pride. Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth
But, hark! methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue ! Caught from the stores of ancient truth:
In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ; Hence all thy classic wand'rings could explore,
Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free,
As swells the lark's meridian ecstasy.
“ Fond youth! to Marvell's patriot fame,
Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire.
Still strike thy blameless lyre :
Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. And all the vernal sweets thy vacant youth
Oh bang their foliage round the fane of Truth:
To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil,
And meet its fair reward in D'Arcy's smile.
Thy sick'ning soul; at that sad hour,
Thy duteous sorrows shower:
At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline ;
When pining Care leads on her pallid train,
And sees thee, like the weak and widow'd vine,
And raise with friendship's arm thy drooping head.
That bloom'd those vocal shades among, Draws the long lustre of her silver line,
Where never flatt'ry dar'd to tread, While the hush'd breeze its last weak whisper blows,
Or interest's servile throng; And lulls old Humber to his deep repose.
Receive, thou favor'd son, at my command,
And keep with sacred care, for D'Arcy's brow:
Tell him, 'twas wove by my immortal hand,
I breath'd on every flower a purer glow;
Say, for thy sake, I send the gift divine
To him, who calls thee his, yet makes thee mine."
* Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston upon-Hull in the Thy blush is warm content's ethereal glow;
year 1620. Thy smile is peace; thy step is liberty :
† See The Rehearsal Transposed, and an account of Thou scatter'st blessings round with lavish hand,
the effect of that satire, in the Biographia Britannica, - As Spring with careless fragrance fills the land.