The FAIRIES SERENADE to ROSAMOND.
In olde time of the king Artour,
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour,
All was this land fulfilled of faerie.-CHAUCER,
SWEET flower of humanity! rose of the world!
Come under the banner to shield thee unfurl'd,
True pennon of harmony, ensign of love,
Of the waterbow tissue all woven above;
Come fairest of mortals, O haste to our call,
Ere the glowworm's soft lustre decay in our hall,
From the acorn-cup wide and the bellflower deep,
Thy bloom with our freshening essence we'll steep.
The moth and the rearmouse have yielded their pinions,
To waft us away to our distant dominions;
Our herald, the gnat, winds his summons afar,
And the beetle's loud boom peals our toesin of war.
On the moonbeams we sail over ocean and isle,
While the owlet still bears home our forage and spoil.
We'll traverse wherever a thought can but speed
The mineral cave and the flower-cover'd mead,
The subterrene furnace with earth-rending steam,
The emerald grove, and the crystalling stream,
The pearl-paved ocean, where coral rocks grow,
The clouds with their treasures of rain and of snow.
We'll rifle their sccrets, we'll treasure them well,
And wring out the virtues that deep in them dwell,
That thy spirits and beauty might never decay,
Unless crime to thy bosom shall win its dark way.
Then come to our revels, thy wish shall be crown'd,
While light o'er the grass in gay circlets we bound.
Here's the gold-tinted cowslip that hangs down his
head,
Which the blood of Adonis has sprinkl'd with red;
The purple-stain'd violet, whose veins are fill'd up
With the nectar that Hebe once spill'd from her cup;
The woodbine, whose first seed a velvet-bee sow'd,
And dew'd it with honey till fragrant it blow'd.
But ah, the sad omen! though fleeter than wind,
Of our dear agnus castus no bud could we find;
So we cropt agrimonia, so richly endued,
And balm to abate the hot dance of the blood d;
With the lily so pure, and the "bel marguerite,"
We've compos'd for our darling a gay coronet.
Then haste from her pillow, sleep, speedily fly,
Ere the sun from his couch shall ascend the blue sky;
Or the guardians of evening their charges forsake,
And the myriads with day to its worship awake,
And come where their banner the fays have unfurl'd,
Sweet flower of humanity! rose of the world!
STERN Winter is fleeting, the Spring re-appears, And wakes to new rapture all 'neath the high spheres; Now sweet is the season ;-thro' earth and thro' air Each object is beauteous, but thou art more fair.
Yet years will press on thee; amid their fleet range, Inconstant are all things, and subject to change. Thy bloom it must wither, thy brilliant eye close, The brief term of beauty's like that of the rose.
'Tis March, and piercing blows the gale
O'er new-plough'd fields and fallow lands,
Drench'd by the arrowy sleet and hail,
Yet there the coltsfoot bloom expands.
Of sulphur hue its brilliant rays,
Well deem'd the promise of the year,
Attract the plodding rustic's gaze,
And fill his heart with blithest cheer.
The brumal shades are fleeting past,
And hedges slow their leaves unfold; While trembling in the half-spent blast, Looks up and smiles yon gem of gold.
Well may it smile, for on its way,
From western bourn, young zephyr comes, To deck the earth in green array, And fill her lap with countless blooms.
A little while-a little while
In joyless gloom stern Winter reigns; Then Spring resumes her cheering smile, And wakens rapture's melting strains.
SOFTLY sailing on glittering pinions,
We meteors wanton through ether's dominions,
Over the valley and over the mountain,
Over the ocean, lake, and fountain ;
There we gambol, and there we glow,
While all is wrapt in gloom below.
Where perennial flowers are springing,
And the Bulbul his hymn is singing;
Where the diamond sands shine brightly,
To the planets wandering nightly;
There in splendid pomp we sail,
Kindled by the glowing gale.
Where the sorcerer's caldron is boiling,
And the hag at her spell is toiling;
Where the Laplander sees no morning,
His dreary winter skies adorning;
There we bolder, brighter glow,
And light the rein-deer through the snow.
Softly in Tuscan twilight bowers,
Where music charms the midnight hours,
While groups enweave the flying measure,
That tunes their youthful souls to pleasure,
We glance in the lover's beaming eye,
And fleetly trail through the azure sky.
Where the savage prowlers are roaming,
And the wild Niagara is foaming;
Where cannibals join in bloody battle,
And shrill resounds the serpent's rattle,
We float around the horrid heath,
And gild the gloomy scene of death.
From caverns of sulphur and nitre springing, Our way through air behold us winging,
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