Each osier isle, inverted on the wave, Thro' morn's grey mist its melting colours gave; Light as the breeze that brushed the orient dew, Glanced from the white foam of some sheltered stream. Far from the busy world she flies, Reviewing Life's eventful page; And noting, ere they fade away, FLORIO had gained a rude and rocky seat, Can VIRGIL'S verse, can RAPHAEL's touch impart She left the cave, nor marked the stranger there; FLORIO, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, Till thro' a vista's moonlight-chequered shade, Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed, (Their wars suspended, and their councils closed) An antique mansion burst in awful state, A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate. Nor paused he there. The master of the scene Saw his light step imprint the dewy green; And, slow-advancing, hailed him as his guest, Won by the honest warmth his looks expressed. He wore the rustic manners of a Squire; Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing Power! Winged with delight Confinement's lingering hour. The fox's brush still emulous to wear, He scoured the county in his elbow-chair; But why the tale prolong?-His only child, Had won his soul; and rapturous Fancy shed But ah! few days had passed, ere the bright vision fled!, When Evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue, And her deep shades irregularly threw ; Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, |