"Some the refulgent chariot of the sun
Pursue, descending to its western goal;
Some, courier-like, from distant planets run;
Some the huge comet's fiery wonder roll;
Some patient sentry keep at either pole;
And others, by harmonious witch'ry won,
All heav'n responsive to the dulcet sound,
Turn the smooth spheres on tuneful axis round.

"In every twinkling star, serenely shine
Those white-robed ministers of placid bliss ;
Important is their toil, more pleasing mine ;-
To point the transport of the thrilling kiss,
Ne'er known the maiden's throbbing heart to miss ;
T'anncal the drop that falls on feeling's shrine ;
To soothe the lover's soul when frenzy-fraught;
Or lift sublime the poet's towering thought.

"Arise! arise! do not thy pulses beat
More lively marches, to forego thy lot?
Feels not thy breast a more exalted heat,
Loos'd from mortality, and yon dim spot?
Surpassing joys, beyond conception wrought,
In my embrace thy purer sense await.”—
Embay'd in ecstacies, my humil head
1 rear'd; and lo! the fair phantasma fled.

And now, dank-seething from the dewy earth, The vaporous exhalation stole away;

The faggot blaz'd upon the cottage-hearth; And palmer Twilight, clad in amis gray, Resign'd to ebon Night his shadowy sway. Musing on descant high, whose future birth Haply may not my humble name abase, Homeward I bent my desultory pace.

THE

PLEASURES OF POESY.

AVAUNT, ye scowling cares, of hideous brow! Whilere that brooded on my joyless breast: No more beneath your baneful sway I bow, No more your terrors haunt my tranquil rest. In blooming bow'rs of fond idea blest, White-handed Hope, with seraph-smile divine, And Peace, emerging from her halcyon-nest, And all the beauteous race of Mind, are mine, While polished Moira lends a lustre to my line.

There are, the witching verse who basely slight,
Intent on vulgar arts I loath to share;
There are who feel no exquisite delight
In aught sublimely grand, or sweetly fair ;

There are to whom yon rich expanse of air
Teems not with forms by faery fingers wrought;
Still poring on the earth, with leaden stare,
The tender-featur'd family of Thought

Madly they mock, dull slaves! by impious Mammon caught.

Though no vile hoards my iron coffers fill, Can I not commune with the heirs of fame ? From the pure current of whose fluent quill, Unfading praise and kingly honours came. Can I not wooe the laughter-loving dame, With him illustrious from Lepanto's fray ;* Illume my lamp at Jonson's learned flame; Or weave with thee, dear bard, the wizard lay, That whilom wildly sung by Desmond's turrets gray?

Fell waves who rudely robb'd my Spenser's song Of half its worth, and griev'd the elfin queen !+ For this so great, irreparable wrong,

Ne'er on your brim be blue-ey'd sea-nymph seen,

* Cervantes, who lost his hand in that battle.

+ The concluding cantos of the Faery Queene were lost in the Irish Seas.

Sleeking her humid locks of glossy green,
Nor sportive Triton wind his tortuous shell;
Yet know, remov'd from your obdurate spleen,
His descant charms the ocean-pow'rs who dwell
In coral cave profound, or pearly-pillar'd cell.

With him who sung the Seasons,* I may rove,
Romantic Richmond! by thy wat’ry glade;
Or, hallow'd to the voice of hopeless love,

Thro' the fair Leasowes't woe-enamour'd shade;
Scenes in eternal bloom by song array'd!

Or in delightful reveries employ

The hour with him whom each melodious maid Mark'd for her own,-ah! dead to every joy, Mysterious, but unmatch'd, Invention's wondrous boy!‡

Rail as ye list, ye minions of decay,

And ban the wight for other ages born;
Wave the pined minstrel from your gate away,
Nor waste one glance upon his state forlorn;
You cannot close the portals of the morn,
When the faint Dawn first opes her dewy eye;
Your mandate cannot hush the vocal thorn;
Embitter frolic Zephyr's fragrant sigh ;
Or chase gay evening down the many-colour'd sky.

* Thomson.

+ Shenstone's seat. + Chatterton.