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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.

ANONYMOUS.
Hail, orient Sun, auspicious light,
That banishest the gloom of night,
Lo! from behind the wood-crown'd height,

Breaks forth thy glorious radiancy!

Behold it sparkle in the stream,
And on the dew-drop sweetly gleam!
O now may Joy's enliv’ning beam

Mingle with thine its brilliancy!

The Zephyrs, while the woodlands ring,
Their rosy beds with frolic wing
Forsake, and round the sweets of Spring

Rejoice to scatter lavishly.

Soft Sleep, and all his airy crew,
Fly as the morn appears to view :
Like little Loves, may they pursue

Their sport o'er Chloe peacefully!

Ye Zephyrs, haste-from every flower,
Of richest perfumes take a shower,
And bear them hence to Chloe's bower,

The charmer shall wake speedily.

And, hov'ring round her fragrant bed,
In breezes call the lovely maid ;
Go, frolic round her graceful head,

And scent her tresses pleasingly !
Then gently whisper in her ear,
That ere the dawning did appear,
By the soft-murm'ring fountain here,

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,
All baleful spirits fill the sky;
The brood of Night, of hideous form,
The desert blast, and wat'ry storm.

But wben you rule, the shadowy train Of Fairy footsteps mark the plain ;

And dimly, by thy light serene,
The ghosts of lovers oft are seen.

When thou art hence, the night-owl screams,
The loathsome bat, that all day dreams,
Creeps from some long-forgotten room,
To revel in a deeper gloom.

But when, fair Moon, you roll on high,
Majestic through the silent sky,
Still to the nightingale's soft song,
In measures slow, you move along.

Oh, come then with thy clouds of snow,
Light floating as the zephyrs blow;
Oh come, and through the cheerless gloom,
Shed one mild ray on yonder tomb! .,

Those stones Palemon's dust enclose,
The peace of Heav'n 's in his repose ;
Thy whitening beam, ah! gently shed
On poor Palemon's lowly bed.

Till, piercing through the deeper night
That seals his eyes, a purer light
Shall burst the bonds of mortal clay,
When thou thyself shalt fade away.

TO THE MORNING-STAR. is . 'Written at Sea.

CAREY.
From chambers brighter than the day,

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,
To nark thy brightning path, and see

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.

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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 ! -
And aye I'll pant to see thee shine;

Beloved star, arise, arise !

O let thy spirit seek the glade,

To hear thy holy vespers sung!

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