ODE to the SPIRIT of FRESHNESS.
From the enlarged Edition of POLWHELE'S INFLUENCE of LOCAL AT
TACHMENT with refpect to HOME, &C.]
THOU, the daughter of the vernal dew
That gliftering to the morn with pearly light
The gentle Aura woo'd
Befide a dripping cave;
There, midst the blufh of rofes, won the nymph
To dalliance, as in fighs fhe whifper'd love;
There faw thee born, as May
Unclos'd her laughing eye;
Spirit of Frefhnefs, hail! At this dim hour
While, ftreakt with recent, grey, the dawn appears,
Where sport thy humid steps,
Ambrofial effence, fay?
Haply, thy flippers glance along my path
Where frofted lilies veil their filver bells
Beneath the lively green
Of their full-fhading leaves.
Or doft thou wander in the hoary field
Where, overhead, I view the cautious hare
Nibbling, while ftillness reigns,
The light-fprent barley-blade?
Or dost thou hover o'er the hawthorn bloom,
Where, in his neft of clay, the blackbird opes
His golden lids, and tunes
A foft-preluding ftrain;
Or, art thou foaring mid the fleeced air
To meet the day-fpring, where the plume-wet lark
Pours, fudden, his fhrill note
Beneath a dusky cloud?
I fee thee not-But lo! a vapory shape
That oft belies thy form, emerging flow
From that deep central gloom,
Refts on the moontipt wood;
Now, by a halo circled, fails along,
As gleams with icicles his azure vest,
Now fhivers on the trees,
And feebly finks from fight.
'Tis cold! And lo, upon the whitening folds
Of the dank mift that fills the hollow dell,
Chill damp with drizzly locks
Glides in his lurid car ;
Where a lone fane o'er those broad rubes nods
In flumberous torpor; fave when flitting bat
Stirs the rank ivy brown
That clafps its oozing walls!
Yet, yet, defcending from yon eastern tent;
Whofe amber feems to kifs the wavy plain,
A form, half-viewlefs, fpreads
A flush purpureal round.
I know thee, Frefhnefs! Lo, delicious green
Sprinkles thy path. The bursting buds above
With vivid moisture glow,
To mark thy gradual way.
The florets, opening, from their young cups dart
The carmine blufh, the yellow luftre clear:
And now entranc'd, I drink
Thy breath in living balms!
And not a ryegrafs trembles, but it gives
A scent falubrious: not a flower exhales
Its odors, but it breathes,
O'er all, a cool repofe.
Mild fhadowy power! whilft now thy treffes bath'd
In primrofe tints, the fnowdrop's coldness fhed
On fky-blue hyacinths,
Thy chafte and fimple wreath;
While flows to Zephyr thy transparent robe
Stealing the colors of the lunar bow,
How fhort thy vestal reign
Yes! if thou mix the faffron hues that ftreatm
From the bright orient with the rofcid rays
Of yonder orb that hangs
A filvery drop, on high;
Or, if thou love, along the lucent fod,
To catch the sparkles of thy modest star;
With all the mingled beams
Heightening fome virgin's bloom;
Fleet as the fhadow from the breded heaver
Brushing the gofflamer, thy fteps retire
Within the gelid gloom
Of thy green-vefted oak.
There, as its ambient arch: with airy fweep
Chequers the ground, thine
Purfue the turf that floats
In many a tremulous wave.
And now, retreating to the breezy marge
Of the pure ftream, thy ruby fingers rear
The new-blown flowers that wake
To tinge its crystal tide:
Or gently on thine alabafter urn
Thy head reclines, beneath fome aged beech
That mid the crifped brook
Steeps it long-wreathed roots;
While from the cave where first thine effence fprung, Where the chafte Naiads rang'd their glittering fpars,
Rills, trickling thro' the mofs,
Purl o'er the pebbled floor.
There fleep till eve; as now the tyrant heat
Kindles, with rapid ftrides, the extenfive lawn,
And e'en thy favourite haunt,
The verdurous oak, invades.
And may no vapors from that ofier'd bank
Annoy thee-thou, whofe delicacy dreads,
Tho' fhrinking from the fun,
The fallow's ftagnant fhade.
There fleep till eve; unless the fpring-lov'd fhowers,
Pattering among the foliage, bid thee rife
To tafte thofe tranfient blooms
That with the rainbow live.
There fleep till eve; when as thy parent Air
With feathery foftnefs flutters o'er thine urn,
And midst the vermeil bower,
The dew thy feet impearls ;
Joy'd fhalt thou hail the watery-tinted cloud,
Whofe radiant skirts half hide the westering orb,
Whilft a fine emerald hue
The whole horizon ftains;
Till thro' the fragrance of his sweet-briar leaves
Thy glow-worm flings a folitary ray,
As peace defcends, to hu
The twilight-bofom'd fcene!
ODE for his MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY.
[By HENRY JAMES PYE, ESQ. POET-LAUREAT.]
HILE loud and near, round Britain's coafts, The low'ring ftorm of battle roars, In proud array while numerous hofts
Infulting threat her happy fhores, No ftrains with peaceful defcant blown Now float around Britannia's throneThe fhouts from martial zeal that rife, The fires that beam from Glory's eyes, The fword that manly Freedom draws, In Freedom's patriot Monarch's caufe, Shall with an angel's voice difplay
How dear to Britain's fons their George's natal day. Triumphant o'er the blue domain
Of hoary Ocean's briny reign,
While Britain's navies boldly fweep
With victor prow the ftormy deep,
Will Gallia's vanquish'd fquadrons dare
Again to try the wat'ry war,
Again her floating caftles brave,
Terrific on the howling wave?
Or on the fragile bark adventure o'er,
Tempt her tempeftuous feas, and fcale her rocky fhore?
Or fhould the wind's uncertain gale
Propitious fwell the hoftile fail;"
Should the dim mift, or midnight fhade,
Invafion's threaten'd inroad aid,
Shall Britain, on her native firand,
Shrink from a foe's inferior band?
She vows, by Gallia taught to yield
On Creci's and on Poitiers' field,
By Agincourt's high trophy'd plain,
Pil'd with illuftrious nobles flain,
By wondering Danube's diftant flood,
And Blenheim's ramparts red with blood,
By chiefs on Minden's heaths who fhone,
By recent fame at Lincelles won,
Her laurel'd brow fhe ne'er will veil,
Or fhun the flock of fight, though numerous hofts affail.
Th' clectric flame of glory runs
Impetuous through her hardy fons.
See, rushing from the farm and fold,
Her fwains in Glory's lifts enroll'd.
Though o'er the nations far and wide
Gallia may pour oppreffion's tide,
And, like Rome's tyrant race of yore,
O'er-run each tributary shore;
Yet, like the Julian chief, their hofts fhall meet,
Untam'd reliftance here, and foul defeat;
Shall, like Rome's rav'ning eagle, baffled fly
From Britain's fatal cliffs, the abode of Liberty.
Behold on Windfor's oak-fring'd plain,
The pride of Albion's fylvan reign,
Where oft the cheering hound and horn
Have pierc'd the liftening ear of morn,
Rous'd by the clarion's warlike found,
The heroes tread the tented ground;
Where chiefs as brave as thofe of yore,
Who chivalry's first honours wore,
What time fair knighthood's knee around
Th' embroider'd zone victorious Edward bound,
Shall by their monarch's throne a bulwark stand,
And guard in George's crown the welfare of the land.
The HERMIT and his HISTORY.
[From OBERON, a Poem, from the GERMAN of WIELAND, by WILLIAM SOTHEBY, ESQ]
ROM the laft ftep as Huon faint defcends,
A man before him stands of noble mien,
Below his breaft his filver beard extends,
A girdle broad around his body roll'd,
Confines his ruffet mantle's fimple fold,
And a long rosary at his girdle hung;
By fuch plain figns, thefe lonely rocks among,
All may aread his ftate without conjecture bold.
Plain on his noble aspect fhone confeft,
Grandeur beneath a cowl that mildly gleam'd;
His eye a smile on all creation beam'd:
And tho' the touch of time had gently prest
His neck, foft bow'd beneath the weight of years,
Sublimely rais'd to heaven, his brow appears
The shrine of peace; and like a fun-gilt height,
Where never earthly mift obfcur'd the light,
Above the stormy world its tranquil fummit rears.
Time from his features long had worn away
The ruft of earth, and paffion's gloomy frown:
He would not stoop to grafp a failing crown,
Nor bend the fceptre of a world to fway.
Free from the vain defires that earth enthrall,
Free from vain terrors that mankind appal,
Untouch'd by pain, and unaffail'd by fear,
To truth alone he turn'd his mental ear,
Alone to nature tun'd, and her sweet simple call.
Ere from the ftorm of life to peace reftor'd,
He call'd himself Alonzo. Leon bore
The noble infant on her pleasant shore,
And rear'd him for the fervice of her lord.
And there with thousands like himself deceiv'd,
He chas'd the fhades, ftill cheating, ftill believ'd,
That tempt the fight, yet ftill the touch elude;
And like the chemist's stone in vain purfu'd,
Leave the fond wretch they lur'd in hopeless mifery griev'd
And when he thus had wafted golden youth
'Mid kingly fmiles, and in the drunken mood
Of self-delufion drain'd his wealth and blood,
With zeal unthank'd, and unacknowledg'd truth,
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