Long, long the drooping captive dwells REV. J. WALTERS. TO THE SPIRIT OF FRESHNESS. O THOU, the daughter of the Vernal Dew, There, midst the blush of roses, won the nymph Spirit of Freshness, hail! At this dim hour Haply, thy slippers glance along my path Of their full-shading leaves. [pears, Or dost thou wander in the hoary field Or dost thou hover o'er the hawthorn bloom, A soft preluding strain; Or art thou soaring mid the fleeced air To meet the dayspring, where the plume-wet lark Pours sudden his shrill note Beneath a dusky cloud? I see thee not-But lo! a vapoury shape Now, by a halo circled, sails along, And feebly sinks from sight. 'Tis cold! and lo! upon the whitening folds Of the dank mist that fills the hollow dell, Chill Damp with drizzly locks Glides in his lurid car, Where a lone fane o'er those broad rushes nods Yet, yet, descending from yon eastern tent A flush purpureal round. I know thee, Freshness! 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 Thy breath in living balms! And not a ryegrass trembles, but it gives Mild shadowy power! whilst now thy tresses, bathed In primrose tints, the snowdrop's coldness shed On skyblue hyacinths, Thy chaste and simple wreath; While flows to Zephyr thy transparent robe, How short thy vestal reign Amid the rosy lawn! Yes! if thou mix the saffron hues that stream Or if thou love, along the lucent sod, Fleet as the shadow from the breded heaven Of thy green-vested oak. There, as its ambient arch with airy sweep Chequers the ground, thine eyes of dewy light' Pursue the turf that floats In many a tremulous wave. And now, retreating to the breezy marge Or gently on thine alabaster urn Thy head reclines, beneath some aged beech Steeps its long-wreathed roots. While from the cave where first thine essence sprung, [spars, Where the chaste Naiads ranged their glittering Rills, trickling through the moss, Purl o'er the pebbled floor. There sleep till eve; as now the tyrant heat Kindles, with rapid strides, the' extensive lawn, And e'en thy favourite haunt, The verdurous oak, invades. And may no vapours from that osier'd bank The sallow's stagnant shade. There sleep till eve; unless the spring-loved showers, Pattering among the foliage, bid thee rise To taste those transient blooms That with the rainbow live. VOL. III. Q There sleep till eve; when as thy parent Air The dew thy feet impearls ; Joy'd shalt thou hail the watery-tinted cloud, Whose radiant skirts half hide the westering orb, Whilst a fine emerald hue. The whole horizon stains; Till through the fragrance of his sweetbriar leaves As peace descends, to hush POLWHELE. VICISSITUDE. -RAPT in thought that bids thee rise In all thy forms before mine eyes, I glow with joy to see thee come In rosy health and youthful bloom: And now cold horror trembles o'er my soul, When thou, in blank uncertainty array'd,. With iron-hearted deaf control Throw'st all around thy awful dubious shade. Oh, give my song, mysterious power, The joys and terrors of thy sway to tell, While drizzling black clouds o'er him lour, Bent o'er his staff, with livid visage fell, |