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When thy bright Orb, beyond old Ocean's
bound, Through nether skies pursues its destin'd round, Lost in surrounding darkness, beauty fades; Through the blank field, and through the wood
land spreads A melancholy silence. O'er the plain Dread monsters roam, and savage terrors reign.
And when sad Autumn sees thy face retire, And happier regions hail thy orient fire, High in the storm imperious Winter flies, And desolation saddens all the skies. But when once more thy beam the north ascends, Thy light invigorates, thy warmth extends : The fields rejoice, the groves with transport ring, And boundless Nature hails the sky-born Spring.
ODE TO THE RISING SUN.
From the German.
Breaks forth thy glorious radiancy!
Behold it sparkle in the stream,
Mingle with thine its brilliancy!
The Zephyrs, while the woodlands ring,
Rejoice to scatter lavishly.
Soft Sleep, and all his airy crew,
Their sport o'er Chloe peacefully!
Ye Zephyrs, haste-from every flower,
The charmer shall wake speedily.
And, hov'ring round her fragrant bed,
And scent her tresses pleasingly !
With sighs I cali'd her fervently.
TO THE MOON.
REV. J. H. POTT. O FAIREST Orb of heav'nly light, That lead'st the starry train of night, Calm Silence smooths thy tranquil way, And pensive Sorrow loves thy ray.
When you your silver beams deny,
But wben you rule, the shadowy train Of Fairy footsteps mark the plain ;
And dimly, by thy light serene,
When thou art hence, the night-owl screams,
But when, fair Moon, you roll on high,
Oh, come then with thy clouds of snow,
Those stones Palemon's dust enclose,
Till, piercing through the deeper night
TO THE MORNING-STAR. is . 'Written at Sea.
Star of the morning, thou art come
To gild with glory's op'ning ray,
The front of heav'n's imperial dome.
Thou break'st upon the dazzled view
In all the eastern splendour bright, Thy beamy locks are bath'd in dew,
Thy skirts are dipp'd in orient light.
Thy rays illume the wat'ry waste,
And chase afar the fiend-like brood, That harrow'd up the ocean's breast,
And all night rode the boiling flood.
The sailor feels his bosom swell,
And hails thy lustre with a song; The Sea-nymphs smite the sounding shell,
With joy, their coral caves among.
But, oh! thou bring'st no joy to me;
No transports in my bosom rise,
The day-spring crimson o'er the skies. Yet I have lov'd, with ling'ring pace,
Where high the green hill lifts its head, To rove at vernal dawn, and trace
The new-born glories as they spread.
'Twas when for me the hamlet smil'd
Beneath the waving green-wood tree; When friendship all my cares beguilid,
And love awoke my heart to glee.
But now no dear connubial home,
No friend shall ever bless me more, With many a weary step I roam,
An exile from my native shore !
Why should I joy in Phoebus' ray,
Who never more shall comfort prove ? It only shines to point the way
That leads me from the land I love.
Arise, arise, thou queen of love ! · Thy bed is chill'd with evening dew; Thy robe the virgin fays have wove,
And rear'd thy canopy of blue. *
O let me see thy golden breast,
Thy amber halo o'er the hill; And all the chambers of the west
Thy coronal with glory fill!
O come! the evening colours fade;
Soft silence broods o'er lawn and lea; And Beauty, in the greenwood shade,
Uplifts a longing eye for thee!
Thy temple be this sylvan bower,
Where wounded lovers kneel confest ; Thy altar-cloth the daisy-flower ;
Thy tabernacle Beauty's breast :
Be this thy dearest, holiest shrine,
Thy breviary two beaming eyes ! -
Beloved star, arise, arise !
O let thy spirit seek the glade,
To hear thy holy vespers sung!