FRAGMENTS.

INVOCATION.

SPIRIT which art within me, if in truth
Thou dost exist in my soul's depths, and I
Have not mistaken the hot pulse of youth,

And wandering thoughts, for dreams of poesy,--
Rise from thy lone recesses, rise, and soothe
Each meaner thought to aspirations high;
Whelm me in musings of deep joy, and roll
Thy radiant visions on my kindling soul.

If, when at morn I view the bright blue Heaven, Thoughts are within me which not all have felt ; If, in the dim and fading light of Even,

A Poet's rapture on my soul hath dwelt ; If to my wayward nature have been given Dreams that absorb, and phantasies that melt, Sweet tears, and wild attachments-lend thy wings, Spirit, to bear me in my wanderings.

But these are boyish dreams.-Away, away, Ye fond enchantments of my foolish brain ;And yet, methinks, I would a while delay,

Ere my frail vessel tempt Life's dangerous main.

Still, dear delusions of my boyhood, stay,

Still let me pour my weak, but harmless strain! In fancied draughts my thirst poetie slake,

And never, never from that dream awake!

OH! matrimonial love, which I so long
Have fondly painted to my fancy's eye,
In vain would I embody now in song

My young conceptions of thy purity.

Thou should'st be chaste, tho' ardent; mild, tho' strong;

Thou should'st be-hang it, it's in vain to try,Thou should'st be-all that in my heart's recess I long have worshipp'd, but can ne'er express.

And thou, fair image, whatsoe'er thou art,
The loved creation of my boyish brain,

The destined partner of my cares and heart,
To share my pleasures, and to soothe my pain;
Still of my dearest visions be a part,

In many a midnight dream appear again;
Still let me clasp thee to my glowing breast,
Enjoy thy converse, and in sleep be blest.

And if not all a phantom of my thought,

And thou indeed hast being, may thy young

And sinless years be happy, and may nought
That tastes of sorrow in thy path be flung
May purest lessons thy young heart be taught,
And each expanding thought to virtue strung;
May'st thou have some accomplishments—much
grace,

And lovely as thy spirit be thy face.

I shall be quite enraptured if you sing,
So but your taste is pure as was the Attics':
I only beg you'll take care not to fling
Your time away in learning mathematics ;
Nor to my arms a heavy portion bring

Of chemistry-and Greek-and hydrostatics; You may nurse pinks and tulips, if you've got any, But be no florist, love-nor deal in botany.

SHE came on Earth soon after the creation,
And was akin to Oberon, 'tis said :

In Faeryland received her education,

But never yet had been induced to wed, Though she was woo'd by half the Elfin nationBut still a free and roving life she led; And sought diversion for her gentle mind Chiefly among the haunts of humankind.

There was a deep and solitary well in

The palace where the Prince was now confined, Which served this lovely Fairy for a dwelling,

A spot just suited to a Fairy's mind;

Much like the fountain where Narcissus fell in
Love with her own fair face, and pined, and
pined

To death (the passion's not at all uncommon
In Man, and very prevalent in Woman).

Beneath this fountain's fresh and bubbling water, Unfathomably deep, the livelong day,

This wondrous Fairy, Time's most radiant daughter, In unimaginable visions lay;

Where never earthly care or sorrow sought her, But o'er her head did the wild waters play, And flitting spirits of the Earth and Air Scatter'd sweet dreams and lulling music there.

For she was well beloved by all th' immortal
Beings that roam through Ocean, Earth, or Sky;
And oft would blessed spirits pass the portal
Of the vast Eden of Eternity

To be her slaves, and to her did resort all

Angelic thoughts, each heavenly phantasy, That mortals may not know-all came to bless This gentle Being's dreams of happiness.

And all around that fountain, the pure air

Breathed of her presence; every leaf was hung

With music, and each flower that blossom'd there
A fine and supernatural fragrance flung
On the glad sense; and thither did repair

Garlanded maids, and lovers fond and young; And by the side of the low-murmuring stream Would youthful poets lay them down to dream.

And ever on that spot the rays of Morning
Fell thickest, and the Sun's meridian light
Sparkled and danced amid the waves, adorning
The crystal chamber of the sleeping Sprite.
But when proud Dian walk'd, with maiden scorn, in
The Eastern skies, and the sweet dews of Night
Lay heavy on the Earth, that Sprite arose
Fresh from the visions of the day's repose.

And then, she gaily wander'd through the world,
Where'er her fancy led her, and would stray
(The sails of her bright meteor-wings unfurl'd)
Through many a populous city, and survey
The chambers of the sleeping; oft she curl'd

The locks of young chaste maidens, as they lay, And lit new lustre in their sleeping eyes,

And breathed upon their cheeks the bloom of Paradise.

And she would scatter o'er the Poet's brain

(As he lay smiling through swift-springing tears)

A strange and unintelligible train

Of fancies, and ring loud into his ears