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And he the glitter of the dew
WHEN Youth his faery reign began
And when, along the waves of woe,
But soon Reflection's power imprest
And though in distant climes to roam,
June, 1794. LINES
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.
ONCE more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wan
dering near, I bless thy milky waters cold and clear. Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours, With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers, (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn,) My languid hand shall wreathe thy mossy urn. For not through pathless grove with murmur rude Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, Solitude; Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well, The hermit-fountain of some dripping cell ! Pride of the Vale! thy useful streams supply The scattered cots and peaceful hamlet nigh. The elfin tribe around thy friendly banks With infant uproar and soul-soothing pranks, Released from school, their little hearts at rest, Launch paper navies on thy waveless breast. The rustic here at eve with pensive look Whistling lorn ditties leans upon his crook, Or starting pauses with hope-mingled dread To list the much-loved maid's accustomed tread: She, vainly mindful of her dame's command, Loiters, the long-filled pitcher in her hand.
Unboastful Stream ! thy fount with pebbled falls The faded form of past delight recalls, What time the morning sun of Hope arose, And all was joy ; save when another's woes A transient gloom upon my soul imprest, Like passing clouds impictured on thy breast. Life's current then ran sparkling to the noon, Or silvery stole beneath the pensive Moon: Ah! now it works rude brakes and thorns among, Or o'er the rough rock bursts and foams along !
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.*
OTHOU wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds ex
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
When blushing, like a bride, from Hope's trim
bower She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower. Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam, Aid, lovely Sorceress ! aid thy Poet's dream! With faery wand O bid the Maid arise, Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes; As erst when from the Muses' calm abode I came, with Learning's meed not unbestowed ; When
as she twined a laurel round my brow, And met my kiss, and half returned my vow, O’er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart, And every nerve confessed the electric dart.
O dear Deceit! I see the maiden rise,