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CANZONET I.

WHEN the grey witch of former days

Presum❜d to exercise her spell,

She made her exit in a blaze,

And he that was bewitch'd was well.

But now since more angelic shapes

At incantation take their turn,

The beauteous sorceress escapes,

And he that is bewitch'd must burn.

So am I doom'd in spite of aid

To languish in the midst of flame,

Fast-stak'd by yon enchanting maid, Who charms me with her very name.

Bewitching beauty, ah, restrain

The pow'rful magic of thine eye,

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Bestow a smile upon my pain,

And set me free, or let me die.

Rouse thy displeasure. Let despair
With his keen arrow pierce my side,
Or give me ease, which must be there,
Where heav'n, and love, and thou reside.

THE MIDNIGHT INVOCATION.

YE fairies who float on the breeze,

And in blossoms delight to repose,

Or regale with convenience and ease
In the moss-cover'd bud of the rose;

Ye elves who in acorn-cups dwell,

Sleeping fast through the fervours of noon, And rejoice round the hyacinth's bell

To dance down the pale day of the moon;

Lay aside ev'ry sport ye pursue

On the mountain or dew-besprent green,

And your gay

summer habits renew,

To come hither and wait on your Queen.

Make ye haste at the dead of the night

From her chamber to steal her

away,

Oh make haste, and again to my sight

My divine little charmer convey.

Your most easy of chariots prepare,

One whose wheels are on thistledown borne,

And conduct her asleep thro' the air

Softly smiling as rosy-cheek'd morn.

Deck her couch with the blossoms of spring,
Round about her sweet essences shed,
And suspend the grey butterfly's wing
For a canopy over her head.

In the lap of sweet slumber and ease
On the plumes of the moth let her lie,

And her cheek curtain close from the breeze

With the web of the foe to the fly.

And, since slumber and music agree,

Gentle harmonies round her be heard, The soft flutes of the gnat and the bee, And the hum of the dew-sipping bird.

At my door when your myriads alight, Let no footstep disquiet her peace; Come ye down like the snow in the night, Soft and still as the dew on the fleece.

And if, wak'd, from yon intricate thorn
The sweet linnet should warble his lay,

Bid him hush, for it is not the morn,
He has long to repose before day.

Airy charmer, who thus to my sight,
Cloth'd in fancy's bewitching attire,
Comest ever by day and by night,

While I gaze and too fondly admire;

Lift thine eye, and my passion approve, For I own, and conceal it no more, Thou alone art the fairy I love,

Thou alone art the sylph I adore.

Yet, alas! since to these longing arms Thy attractions thou wilt not resign, Slumber on while I dote on thy charms,

And applaud what must never be mine.

Ah! the Fates, gentle Waller, design'd That our lots should in one thing agree;

Thou wast won by a maiden unkind,

And a maiden unkind has won me.

Thou didst love, and still she could refuse,

Sweet encouragement never was thine,

Saccharissa could laugh at thy muse,

Annabella is heedless of mine.

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