And foul defects, that would escape the sight,
Start from the piece, and take a stronger light.
Her chesnut hair in careless rings around
Her temples way'd, with pinks and jes'mine
crown'd,

And gather'd in a silken cord behind,
Curl'd to the waist, and floated in the wind;
O'er these a veil of yellow gauze she wore,
With emeralds and gold embroider'd o'er.
Her snowy neck half naked to the view
Gracefully fell; a robe of purple hue
Hung loosely o'er her slender shape, and tried
To shade those beauties, that it could not hide.
The damsels of her train with mirth and song
Frolic behind, and laugh and sport along.
The birds proclaim their queen from every tree,
The beasts run frisking through the groves to see;
The loves, the pleasures, and the graces meet
In antic rounds, and dance before her feet.
By whate'er fancy led, it chanc'd that day
They through the secret valley took their way,
And to the crystal grot advancing, spied
The prince extended by the fountain's side.
He look'd as by some skilful hand express'd
Apollo's youthful form retir'd to rest, [wood
When with the chase fatigu'd he quits the
For Pindus' vale, and Aganippe's flood;
There sleeps secure, his careless limbs display'd
At ease, encircled by the laurel shade;
Beneath his head his sheaf of arrows lie,
His bow unbent, hangs negligently by:
The slumb'ring prince might boast an equal
grace,

So turn'd his limbs, so beautiful his face.
Waking he started from the ground in haste,
And saw the beauteous choir around him plac'd;
Then summoning his senses, ran to meet
The queen, and laid him humbly at her feet.
Deign, lovely princess, to behold, said he,
One who has travell'd all the world to see
Those charms, and worship thy divinity;
Accept thy slave, and with a gracious smile,
Excuse his rashness, and reward his toil.
Stood motionless the fair, with mute surprise,
And read him over with admiring eyes ;
And while she gaz'd, a pleasing smart
Ran thrilling through her veins and reach'd
her heart.

Each limb she scann'd, consider'd every grace,
And sagely judg'd him of the phoenix race.
An animal like this she ne'er had known,
And thence concluded there could be but one;
The creature too had all the phoenix air,
None but the phoenix could appear so fair.
The more she look'd, the more she thought it

true,

And call'd him by that name, to show she knew.
O handsome phoenix, for that such you are
Weknow; your beauty does your breed declare;
And I with sorrow own through all my coast
No other bird can such perfection boast;
For nature form'd you single and alone;
Alas! what pity 'tis there is but one!
Were there a queen so fortunate to shew
An aviary of charming birds like you,
What envy would her happiness create
In all who saw the glories of her state!

The prince laugh'd inwardly, surpris'd to find

So strange a speech, so innocent a mind.
The compliment indeed did some offence
To reason, and a little wrong'd her sense;
He could not let it pass, but told his name,
And what he was, and whence, and why he

came,

And hinted other things of high concern
For him to mention, and for her to learn ;
And she'd a piercing wit, of wondrous reach
To comprehend whatever he could teach.
Thus hand in hand they to the palace walk,
Pleas'd and instructed with each other's talk.
Here should I tell the furniture's expense,
And all the structure's vast magnificence,
Describe the walls of shining sapphire made,
With emeralds and pearl the floors inlaid,
And how the vaunted canopies unfold
A mimic heaven, and flame with gems and
gold;

Or how Felicity regales her guest,
The wit, the mirth, the music, and the feast;
And on each part bestow the praises due,
Twould tire the writer, and the reader too.
My amorous tale a softer path pursues;
Love and the happy pair demand my muse.

O could her art in equal terms express
The lives they lead, the pleasures they possess !
Fortune had ne'er so plenteously before
Bestow'd her gifts, nor can she lavish more.
"Tis heaven itself, 'tis ecstasy of bliss,
Uninterrupted joy, untir'd excess!
Mirth following mirth, the moments dance
away!

Love claims the night, and Friendship rules the

Perhaps I might have said three months are gone.

Three months! replied the fair, three months alone?

Know that three hundred years have roll'd away,
Since at my feet the lovely phoenix lay.
Three hundred years! re-echo'd back the prince,
A whole three hundred years completed since
I landed here! O! whither then are flown
My dearest friends, my subjects, and my throne?
How strange, alas! how alter'd shall I find
Each earthly thing, each scene I left behind!
Who knows me now? on whom shall I depend?
To gain my rights, where shall I find a friend?
My crown perhaps may grace a foreign line,
A race of kings that know not me or mine;
Who reigns may wish my death, his subjects

treat

Sorpass'd all charms, and made e'en glory poor?
What gifts have I bestow'd, what favors shown!
Made you partaker of my bed and throue;
Three centuries preserv'd in youthful prime,
Safe from the rage of death, and injuries of
time:

Weak arguments! for glory reigns above
The feeble ties of gratitude and love.

I urge them not, nor would request your stay,
The phantom glory calls, and I obey;
All other virtues are regardless quite,
Sunk and absorb'd in that superior light.
Go then, barbarian, to thy realms return;
And show thyself unworthy my concern;
Go tell the world, your tender heart could give
Death to the princess by whose care you live.
At this a deadly pale her cheeks o'erspread,
Cold trembling seiz'd her limbs, her spirits

fled;

She sunk into his arms: the prince was mov'd,
Felt all her griefs, for still he greatly lov'd.
He sigh'd, he wish'd he could forget his throne,
Confine his thoughts, and live for her alone;
But glory shot him deep, the venom'd dart
Was fix'd within, and rankled at his heart;
He could not hide his wounds, but pin'd away
Like a sick flow'r, and languish'd in decay.

Felicity was griev'd, and could not bear
A scene so chang'd, a sight of so much care.
She told him with a look of cold disdain,
And seeming ease, as women well can feign,
He might depart at will: a milder air
Would mend his health; he was no pris'ner
there;

She kept him not, and wish'd he ne'er might Cause to regret the place he left behind; [find Which once he lov'd, and where he still must

Own

He had at least some little pleasure known.

If these prophetic words a while destroy His peace, the former balance is in joy. He thank'd her for her kind concern, but chose

To quit the place, the rest let heav'n dispose. For fate, on mischiefs bent, perverts the will, And first infatuates whom it means to kill.

Aurora now, not as she wont to rise,
In gay attire, ting'd with a thousand dyes,
But sober-sad, in solemn state appears,
Clad in a dusky veil, bedew'd with tears.
Thick mantling clouds beneath her chariot
spread,

A faded wreath hangs drooping from her head.
The sick'ning sun emits a feeble ray,
Half drown'd in fogs, and struggling into day.
Some black event the threat'ning skies foretell:
Porsenna rose to take his last farewell.
A curious vest the mournful princess brought,
An armour by the Lemnian artist wrought,
A shining lance with secret virtue stor❜d,
And of resistless force a magic sword;
Caparisons and gems of wondrous price,
And loaded him with gifts and good advice;
But chief she gave, and what he most would
need

The fleetest of her stud, a flying steed.

The swift Grifippo, said th' afflicted fair, (Such was the courser's name) with speed shall bear,

And place you safely in your native air,
Assist against the foe with matchless might,
Ravage the field, and turn the doubtful fight;
With care protect you till the danger cease,
Your trust in war, your ornament in peace.
But this, I warn, beware, whate'er shall lay
To intercept your course, or tempt your stay,
Quit not your saddle, nor your speed abate,
Till safely landed at your palace gate.

On this alone depends your weal or woe;
Such is the will of fate, and so the gods fore-
show.

He in the softest terms repaid her love,
And vow'd nor age nor absence should remove
His constant faith, and sure she should not
blame

A short divorce due to his injur'd fame.

come

Gay from the field, and flush'd with conquest,
With equal ardor her affection meet,
And lay his laurels at his mistress' feet.
He ceas'd, and sighing took a kind adieu;
Then urg'd his steed; the fierce Grifippo flew
With rapid force, outstripp'd the lagging wind,
And left the blissful shores, and weeping fair
behind;

Now o'er the seas pursu'd his airy flight,
Now scour'd the plains, and climb'd the moun-
tain's height.
[run
Thus driving on at speed, the prince had
Near half his course, when, with the setting

sun,

As through a lonely lane he chanc'd to ride,
With rocks and bushes fenc'd on either side,
He spied a waggon full of wings, that lay
Broke and o'erturn'd across the narrow way:
The helpless driver on the dirty road
Lay struggling crush'd beneath th' incumbent
Never in human shape was seen before [load.
A wight so pale, so feeble, and so poor,
Comparisons of age would do him wrong,
For Nestor's self if plac'd by him were young.
His limbs were naked all, and worn so thin,
The bones seem'd starting through the parch-
ment skin;
[weak,
His eyes half drown'd in rheum, his accents
Bald was his head, and furrow'd was his cheek.
The conscious steed stopt short in deadly
fright,

And back recoiling stretch'd his wings for flight;

While thus the wretch with supplicating tone,
And rueful face, began his piteous moan;
And, as he spake, the tears ran trickling down:
O gentle youth, if pity e'er inclined
Thy soul to gen'rous deed, if e'er thy mind
Was touch'd with soft distress, extend thy care
To saye an old man's life, and ease the load I
bear.

So may propitious heaven your journey speed,
Prolong your days, and all your vows succeed.
Mov'd with the pray'r the kind Porsenna
staid,

Too nobly minded to refuse his aid;
And, prudence yielding to superior grief,
Leapt from his steed, and ran to his relief;
Remov'd the weight, and gave the pris'ner
breath,

Just choak'd and gasping on the verge of death, Then reach'd his hand, when lightly with a bound

The grizly spectre, vaulting from th' ground, Seiz'd him with sudden gripe; th' astonish'd prince

Stood horror-struck, and thoughtless of de

fence

O King of Russia! with a thund'ring sound Bellow'd the ghastly fiend, at length thou'rt found;

Receive the ruler of mankind, and know,
My name is Time, thy ever dreaded foe. [see
These feet are founder'd, and the wings you
Worn to the pinions in pursuit of thee;

caught.

Then round his neck his arms he nimbly cast, And seiz'd him by the throat, and grasp'd him fast;

Till forc'd at length the soul forsook its seat, And the pale breathless corse fell bleeding at

his feet.

Scarce had the cursed spoiler left his prey, When, so it chanc'd, young Zephyr pass'd that way;

Too late his presence to assist his friend,
A sad, but helpless witness of his end.
He chafes, and fans, and strives in vain to cure
His streaming wounds; the work was done

§ 132. Written at the Close of Spring. THE garlands fade that Spring so lately wove, Each simple flow'r which she had nurs'd in dew,

Anemonies, that spangled every grove,

The primrose wan, and hare-bell mildly blue. No more shall violets linger in the dell,

Or purple orchis variegate the plain, Till spring again shall call forth every bell, And dress with humid hands her wreaths again.

Ah! poor humanity! so frail, so fair,

Are the fond visions of thy early day, Till tyrant passion and corrosive care

Bid all thy fairy colours fade away! Another May new buds and flow'rs shall bring;

Ah! why has happiness-no second Spring?

$133. Should the lone Wanderer. SHOULD the lone wanderer, fainting on his way,

Rest for a moment of the sultry hours, And tho' his path thro' thorns and roughness lay,

Pluck the wild rose, or woodbine's gadding flow'rs;

Weaving gay wreaths, beneath some sheltering tree,

And points my wishes to that tranquil shore, Where the pale spectre Care pursues no more.

§ 134. To Night.

I LOVE thee, mournful sober-suited night, When the faint moon, yet lingering in her

wane,

And veil'd in clouds, with pale uncertain light
Hangs o'er the waters of the restless main.
In deep depression sunk, th' enfeebled mind
Will to the deaf, cold elements complain,
And tell th' embosom'd grief, however vain,
To sullen surges and the viewless wind:
Tho' no repose on thy dark breast I find,
I still enjoy thee, cheerless as thou art;

For in thy quiet gloom th' exhausted heart Is calm, tho' wretched; hopeless, yet resign'd: While to the winds and waves its sorrows given, May reach-though lost on earth-the ear of Heaven!

$135. To Tranquillity.

In this tumultuous sphere, for thee unfit,
How seldom art thou found, Tranquillity!
Unless 'tis when with mild and downcast
eye

By the low cradles thou delight'st to sit
Of sleeping infants, watching the soft breath,
And bidding the sweet slumberers easy lie,
Or sometimes hanging o'er the bed of death,
Where the poor languid sufferer hopes to die.
O beauteous sister of the halcyon peace!

resign;

I sure shall find thee in that heavenly scene Where care and anguish shall their power [cease: Where hope alike and vain regret shall And Memory, lost in happiness serene, Repeat no more-that misery has been mine!

§ 136. Written in the Churchyard at Middleton in Sussex.

PRESS'D by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides, While the loud equinox its power combines,

The sea no more its swelling surge confines, But o'er the shrinking land sublimely rides. The wild blast, rising from the western cave, Drives the huge billows from their heaving

bed;

Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead, And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave! With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore, Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent

wave,

But vain to them the winds and waters rave: They hear the warring elements no more: While I am doom'd, by life's long storm opprest, Το gaze with

envy on their gloomy rest.

$137. Written at Penthurst, in Autumn, 1788. YE tow'rs sublime, deserted now and drear, Ye woods, deep sighing to the hollow blast, The musing wanderer loves to linger near, While history points to all your glories past:

Where ruthless Avarice finds a quiet grave!' Thus with clasp'd hands, wild looks, and streaming hair,

While shrieks of horror broke her trembling speech,

A wretched maid, the victim of despair, Survey'd the threatening storm and desert beach.

Then to the tomb where now the father slept Whose rugged nature bad her sorrows flow, Franticshe turn'd-andbeat her breast and wept, Invoking vengeance on the dust below.

Lo! rising there above each humble heap, Yon cipher'd stones his name and wealth relate,

Who gave his son, remorseless, to the deep,
While I, his living victim, curse my fate.
O my lost love! no tomb is plac'd for thee,
That may to strangers' eyes thy worth impart!
Thou hast no grave but in the stormy sea,
And no memorial but this breaking heart.
Forth to the world a widow'd wanderer driven,
I pour to winds and waves th' unheeded tear;
Try with vain effort to submit to heaven,
And fruitless call on him who cannot
hear."

O might I fondly clasp him once again,
While o'er my head th' infuriate billows pour,
Forget in death this agonizing pain,
And feel his father's cruelty no more!
Part, raging waters! part, and show beneath,
In your dread caves his pale and mangled

form;

Now, while the demons of despair and death
Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm!
Lo! by the lightning's momentary blaze,
I see him rise the whitening waves above,
No longer such as when in happier days
He gave th' enchanted hours to me and love:
Such as when daring the enchafed sea,
That every peril, one soft smile from me,
And courting dangerous toil, he often said,
One sigh of speechless tenderness, o'erpaid:
But dead, disfigured, while between the roar
Of the loud waves his accents pierce mine ear,
And seem to say-Ah, wretch! delay no more,
But come, unhappy mourner-meet me here.
Yet, powerful fancy, bid the phantom stay,
Still let me hear hiin!-Tis already past;
Along the waves his shadow glides away,
I lose his voice amid the deafening blast.
He hears not, comes not from his wat'ry bed;
Ah! wild illusion, born of frantic pain!
My tears, my anguish, my despair are vain,
Th' insatiate ocean gives not up its dead.
'Tis not his voice! Hark! the deep thunders
roll!

Upheaves the ground; the rocky barriers fail ;
Approach, ye horrors that delight my soul,
Despair, and Death, and Desolation, hail !'
The ocean hears-th' embodied waters come,
Rise o'er the land, and with resistless sweep
Tear from its base the proud aggressor's tomb,
And bear the injur'd to eternal sleep!