Fuesslin waves thy wand,-again they rise, Again thy wildering forms salute our ravish'd eyes. Him didst thou cradle on the dizzy steep Where round his head the volley'd light'nings flung, And the loud winds that round his pillow rung Wooed the stern infant to the arms of sleep. Or on the highest top of Teneriffe, Seated the fearless Boy, and bade him look Where far below the weather-beaten skiff On the gulph bottom of the ocean strook. Thou mark'dst him drink with ruthless ear The death-sob, and disdaining rest, Thou saw'st how danger fir'd his breast, And in his young hand couch'd the visionary spear. She bore the boy to Odin's Hall, The savage feast and spectred fight; And summon'd from his mountain tomb His fabled runic rhymes to sing While fierce Hresvelger flapp'd his wing; Which on the mists of evening gleam There pity's lute arrests his ear, Taste lastly comes and smooths the whole, The Poet dreams: -The shadow flies, And fainting fast its image dies. Sublime before his wandering eyes, Starts at the image his own mind conceiv'd. ODE, ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, K. G. RETIRED, remote from human noise, A humble Poet dwelt serene, His lot was lowly, yet his joys Were manifold I ween. He laid him by the brawling brook At eventide to ruminate, He watched the swallow swimming round, And inused, in reverie profound, On wayward man's unhappy state, And pondered much, and paused on deeds of antient date. II. 1. "Oh, 'twas not always thus," he cried, "There was a time, when genius claimed Respect from even towering pride, Nor hung her head ashamed: But now to wealth alone we bow, Unheeded in his dying moan, As overwhelmed with want and woe, he sinks unknown. III. 1. Yet was the muse not always seen In poverty's dejected mien, Not always did repining rue, And misery her steps pursue, Time was, when nobles thought their titles graced, When Sidney sung his melting song, When Sheffield joined the harmonious throng, How differently thought the sires of this degenerate race!" I. 2. Thus sang the minstrel:-still at eve In broken measures did he grieve, And still his shame was aye the same, Neglect had stung him to the core; And he, with pensive joy did love. To seek the still congenial grove, And muse on all his sorrows o'er, And vow that he would join the abjured world no more. II. 2. But human vows, how frail they be! Fame brought Carlisle unto his view, And all amaz'd, he thought to see The Augustan age anew. Filled with wild rapture, up he rose, And hails the ideal day of virtuous eminence. Ah! silly man, yet smarting sore, An unsubstantial prop at best, And not to know one swallow makes no summer! Was but a simple solitary beam, While all around remained in customed night. Still leaden ignorance reigns serene, In the false court's delusive height, And only one Carlisle is seen, To illume the heavy gloom with pure and steady light. DESCRIPTION OF A SUMMER'S EVE. DOWN the sultry arc of day, The burning wheels have urged their way, And Eve along the western skies |