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But now the tree, its foliage full-display'd,
Braves the wet storm and parching time of dearth
He comes to sit beneath its fertile shade.

All-glorious days, illuminate the earth!

"Round him our sages see, our men of place,
The soldiers, who recall his well-known air,
See a whole people, and the red man's race
That from their forests at his name repair.
The sacred tree above this concourse vast
Spreads the huge shadow of its mighty girth.
The winds on soils remote its seed shall cast.
All-glorious days, illuminate the earth!

The alien, in whose heart these words sank deep, Serv'd monarchs, and had swell'd a conqueror's train. To these a subject people incense heap:

A people free have honors not so vain.

"Alas!" he said, and o'er the waves his

Seems to seek out his distant place of birth, "May Virtue soon the hemispheres ally! All-glorious days, illuminate the earth!"

eye

ODE IV.

PRELUDE.

NOT in the highway,

Trod by the vulgar,
Muse, let us wander !
Take me where flowing

Murmurs Permessus ;
Where Aganippe

Sparkles celestial,

Haunt of thy sisters.
There on thy mountain,

Lull'd by the breezes,

Gather we flowers

Never yet woven,

Never in chaplets

Seen by the starr'd West.

There shall the spirits,
Hovering round us,

That in the old time,

Under thy guidance,
Chanted enraptur'd,
View with complacence

Efforts so daring,

While, o'er the sweet harp

Touch'd by the Teian

Bard as he warbled,

Or on the vary'd

Chords of ALCEUS,
Glisten my fingers;
Dulcetly warbling

Ivycrown'd BACCHUS,

BACCHUS and VENUS ;

Rose-wreath'd my tresses,

Flashing my eyeballs
Passion and rapture,
Rapture inebriate;
While at my shoulder
Love, like a cherub,
Folding his pinions
Dy'd in the rainbow,

Nods to the measure.

* (1)

ODE V.

THOUGH ABSENT FROM HIS MISTRESS, THE POET SEES HER STILL WITH THE EYES OF FANCY.

I HAVE withdrawn me, SYBIL, from thy sight;
Yet still thy image floats these eyes before;

(1) The above poem, written at a sitting, here terminated, and when a long time afterwards I came across it, and I would resume it, I found that I had neglected to make a memorandum of the design as it was to have been completed; and my memory could not supply the omission. To continue it I have not now time. Considering it however as a successful application of an ancient measure to English poetry, and that it will make a very fair introduction to the amatory portion of the odes, I have inserted it accordingly.

Deck'd in the very garb it lately wore,

It comes before me, and thus doubly bright.
I count the well-known graces o'er and o'er,
And all my pulses tingle with delight.

There are the brows my lips were wont to press !
The glossy hair my fingers joy'd to twine!
The large gray eyes, that on my own would shine
Till the soul sicken'd with excess of bliss!

The burning cheek, so often touch'd to mine,
And the full lip that quiver'd to my kiss!

Thy throat, thy swelling breasts! I see thee all!
Thou smilest; and I cannot bid thee hence.
Again I list, with ecstasy intense,

Thy voice whose whisper'd accents wont to fall
Sweeter than music on my raptur'd sense.
I name thee, and thou comest to my call.

Come to my arms, thou beauteous vision! come !
Come, since thou wilt, and let my brain have rest.
O, ease thy head upon my throbbing breast,
And nestle in the heart that is thy home!
Sigh not, my SYBIL! while we are thus blest,
Think'st thou thy poet ever more will roam ?

No! by those lips whose inner edge I press ;
By the sweet breath that mixes now with mine ;
By those twin stars whose rays upon me shine,
And the white lids whose fringes tempt my kiss ;
By that soft voice, that step I deem divine,
And all that makes my peril and my bliss!

Ah me! I have withdrawn me from thy sight;
But still thy image floats these eyes before.
Avails it not I see thy charms no more,
For Fancy brings them to the mind as bright.
I come, enchantress! fling thy fetters o'er
My soul again, and give back my delight!

ODE VI.

THE WISH.

I WOULD I were a little bird,
With wings to wander at my will!
I'd wend my way, unseen, unheard,
And light upon thy window-sill.
Then should I be perhaps preferr'd
To be thy pet, and love thee still.

Then wouldst thou take me in thy hand,
And smooth the plumage of my crest,
And speak to me with accents bland,

And fold me gently to thy breast;
And not the happiest in the land,
Of happy men, would be so blest.

And thou perhaps wouldst praise my song,
Unknowing it was love I sung,

And I the amorous lay prolong,
To be commended of thy tongue,
Nor heed the transport of the throng
That, far less happy, round thee hung.

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