7. For Hope with loveliest visions soothes my mind, That even in Man, Life's wingèd power, When comes again the natal hour, Shall on heaven-wandering feet, Spring to the blessed seat, Where round the fields of Truth The fiery Essences for ever feed; The breezes of serenity, Silent and soothing, glide for ever by.. 8. There, Priest of Nature! dost thou shine, The axle of some beauteous star on high; Or gazing, in the spring Ebullient with creative energy, Feels his pure breast with rapturous joy possessed, Inebriate in the holy ecstasy. 9. I may not call thee mortal then, my soul! Know then thyself! expand thy wings divine! LONDON, 1802. GOOSEBERRY-PIE. A PINDARIC ODE. 1. GOOSEBERRY-PIE is best. Full of the theme, O Muse, begin the song! Give them their honors due; But Gooseberry-pie is best. 2. Behind his oxen slow The patient Ploughman plods; And as the Sower followed by the clods, Earth's genial womb received the living seed. Saw ye the vegetable ocean Roll its green ripple to the April gale? $ 3. It flows through Alder banks along The stream that turns the Mill. Pass on a little way, pass on, And you shall catch its gleam anon; And hark, the loud and agonizing groan That makes its anguish known, Where, tortured by the Tyrant Lord of Meal, The Brook is broken on the Wheel! 4. Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale! Ye Tempests of the sky! From distant realms she comes to bring The sugar for my Pie. For this on Gambia's arid side The Vulture's feet are scaled with blood; And Beelzebub beholds with pride His darling planter brood. 5. First in the spring thy leaves were seen, Soon ceased thy blossoms' little life of love. O safer than the gold-fruit-bearing tree, The glory of that old Hesperian grove! No Dragon does there need for thee And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, 6. The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, O Jane! with truth I praise your Pie; EXETER, 1799. TO A BEE. 1. THOU wert out betimes, thou busy, busy Bee! Before the Cow from her resting-place 2. Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy Bee! When the Primrose-of-evening was ready to burst, 3. Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy Bee! Still on thy golden stores intent, Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent, Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy Bee! 4. Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy Bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, TO A SPIDER. 1. SPIDER! thou need'st not run in fear about To shun my curious eyes; |