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No more the Lover's arms infold
The fair, skatched sudden from his view;
And melting like the early dew
Slips from the Miser's grasp the evanescent gold.
Vast and stupendous beyond aught
Fancy, in fit ecstatic, thought;
Or what beside of high-wrought lore
Graced Fiction's elfin-tales of yore,
Thy forms in many a wondrous hue
Glance on the bard's astonished view,
Or hold in deep suspense his tranced ear;
While many a phantom cleaves the ground,
And busy murmurs circle round,
And airy voices wake, that whisper fear:
Oft by thy paly star
His steps thou lead'st to shadowy wood-scenes wild,
Or where stupendous precipices piled,
Gleam through the untrodden wilderness afar;
Where nature's awful scenes present
Mute wonder and astonishment;
Or in some nook where Solitude
Sits on a rocky fragment rude,
He reads that high, immortal line,
Traced by the Muse's hand divine,
Which, while enamoured of the strain,
Memory's bold pencil would retain,
Fades by degrees upon the mental sight,
And seeks Oblivion's shore, and melts before the light.
Ye visions of the night, farewell!
The orient Morn's impurpled ray
Has chased your airy forms away,
And now with strong immortal hand,
She breaks, 0 Sleep, thy fairy wand,
And melts thy wizard spell:

Yet with impassioned, fond regret,
I quit thy shadowy realms, where brought
'Midst Fancy's high and solemn hour,
The muse invoked thy mystic power
To nurse poetic thought:
Adieu, ye visionary vales !
Far off Night's sullen spirit sails,
The land of shadows, lo, I leave:
Yet shall yon golden lamp of day
More lasting forms, more happy scenes display?
Alas! like thine, they quickly pass away,
Like thine, alas! deceive.



Soft Queen of shadows, gentle Sleep,
Once more to thee I pay my vow,
Again I woo thy murmurs deep
To sooth this throbbing breast of mine,
And round my aching temples twine
The grateful foliage of thy cypress-bough;
Sweet are thy foldings; when the mind
Leaving the load of cares behind,
Expatiates 'midst thy visionary reign,
And bathes in slumbers bland the wakeful sense of pain,
Sweet are thy foldings; when to bless
The spirit faint with trials sore,
Thou com’st indulgent, to restore.
Past scenes of short-lived happiness!

When thy fairy-fingers dress
The paths where childhood loved to stray;
When Joy with roses strewed the way,
And Pleasure, nymph of heavenly birth,
Frolicked blithe: with simple Glee,
Sport, and rose-lip'd Gaiety,
The family of Mirth!
Where playful at the cottage-door,
Or in light gambols on the floor,
Infant-groupes with daisies crowned,
Frisked in many an airy round;
Or, with instinctive aim, began
To mimic, ʼmidst their sports, the graver cares of Man.
Scenes of enchantment ! ye are fled;
Yet Fancy oft' your flight pursues,
While evening-shadows dim
O’er earth's pale surface swim,
And eyes your transient forms, and pranks in golden

hues. But most when mortal eye-lids close Locked in Sleep's profound repose, The Enchantress wakes, and lo, anew, Yođth's fairy prospects start to view, The vernal landscape glows! Hope relumes her sickly fires, The Bard's ecstatic breast inspires, Expressing subjects high, and worthy of the Muse. And oft has Friendship known The kind relief that Sleep alone Soothest of heavenly powers ! with opiate touch

bestows: Even Love beneath thy placid reign, In sweet delirium sinks to rest, Calms the wild tumults of his breast, And in thy silken bonds foregoes his ruthless chain.


Say, Sleep, whence o'er the mind
Dost thou such potency derive,
To bid the hosts of Thought
That with the light of day
In chill obliviou died away,
Again on Memory's plain revive?
That with thy subtle magic fraught,
In many a glittering rank combined,
Reflect the splendours of the mental ray,
And agitate the soul, or tranquillize;
Now with sublimest objects fill,
With Pity touch, with Horror thrill,
And wake respondent sympathies.
Thy colourings, Sleep, deceive
Deliciously the throb of pain,
Bid us live o'er the day again;
With gildings soft the scene relieve,
And heightep into bliss Life's dull realities.
By necromantic groves that glance
Their umbrage dusk to the Phæbcan beam,
Where hung with many a dream,
The twinkling boughs to rosy zephyrs dance;
By darksome rocks that lower
O’er the wild brook that babbles by,
0, often meet my ear
In echoes soft and clear,
Of fairy harps unseen, and solemn minstrelsy:
And o'er my soul thy mystic visions pour,
Pure, intellectual; such as fed
By happiest presage of better days
Round modest Merit's drooping head,
Beam the clear sunshine of ingenuous Praise :
Such as the wounded bosom cheer,

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Whene'er by cold neglect depressed,
Or held by Obloquy in thrall,
Or steeped in Envy's venomed gall;
Then, Sleep, thy healing influence bring,
Soft slumbers waft on downy wing,
And breathe the balm divine of visionary rest.
Thus, Sleep, oft let me lie
Beneath thy grateful shadowings: Call around
Every magic sight and sound ;
Shifting swift from grave to gay,
Mingling shade, or flashing day,
Glance with fairy footsteps by,
And lull each sense in extacy!
Oft let the friend of former days
Meet me in sweet colloquial talk,
And 'midst thy moon-light scenes delighted walk,
While on each other's face we gaze,
And with congenial warmth our bosoms burn
Of sacred amity; o'erjoyed to live
The spring time of our youth again,
To taste the pleasure, or the pain,
And with remembrance bland, survive
The solitary urn!
Thus, Sleep, oft find me, at thy soft return,
While Philomela pours her minstrelsy ;
And to my sight in colours faint
Those future scenes of Beauty paint,
Which oft, with foretaste kind, await
On Virtue, in this transicnt state,
Exhibiting, in vision high,
A weak, but rapturous glance of Immortality!


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