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SONGS OF THE PIXIES

The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings

invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance

from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an

excavation called the Pixies’ Parlour. The roots of old trees form its

ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the

author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the

hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.

To this place the Author, during the summer months of the year 1793,

conducted a party of young ladies; one of whom, of stature elegantly

small, and of complexion colourless yet clear, was proclaimed the Faery

Queen. On which occasion the following Irregular Ode was written.

I

Whom the untaught Shepherds call

Pixies in their madrigal,

Fancy’s children, here we dwell:

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Here the wren of softest note 5

Builds its nest and warbles well;

Here the blackbird strains his throat;

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

II

When fades the moon to shadowy-pale,

And scuds the cloud before the gale, 10

Ere the Morn all gem-bedight

Hath streak’d the East with rosy light,

We sip the furze-flower’s fragrant dews

Clad in robes of rainbow hues;

Or sport amid the shooting gleams 15

To the tune of distant-tinkling teams,

While lusty Labour scouting sorrow

Bids the Dame a glad good-morrow,

Who jogs the accustom’d road along,

And paces cheery to her cheering song. 20

III

But not our filmy pinion

We scorch amid the blaze of day,

When Noontide’s fiery-tresséd minion

Flashes the fervid ray.

Aye from the sultry heat 25

We to the cave retreat

O’ercanopied by huge roots intertwin’d

With wildest texture, blacken’d o’er with age:

Round them their mantle green the ivies bind,

Beneath whose foliage pale 30

Fann’d by the unfrequent gale

We shield us from the Tyrant’s mid-day rage.

IV

Thither, while the murmuring throng

Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,

By Indolence and Fancy brought, 35

A youthful Bard, ‘unknown to Fame,’

Wooes the Queen of Solemn Thought,

And heaves the gentle misery of a sigh

Gazing with tearful eye,

As round our sandy grot appear 40

Many a rudely-sculptur’d name

To pensive Memory dear!

Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctur’d hue,

We glance before his view:

O’er his hush’d soul our soothing witcheries shed 45

And twine the future garland round his head.

V

When Evening’s dusky car

Crown’d with her dewy star

Steals o’er the fading sky in shadowy flight;

On leaves of aspen trees 50

We tremble to the breeze

Veil’d from the grosser ken of mortal sight.

Or, haply, at the visionary hour,

Along our wildly-bower’d sequester’d walk,

We listen to the enamour’d rustic’s talk; 55

Heave with the heavings of the maiden’s breast,

Where young-eyed Loves have hid their turtle nest;

Or guide of soul-subduing power

The glance that from the half-confessing eye

Darts the fond question or the soft reply. 60

VI

Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale

We flash our faery feet in gamesome prank;

Or, silent-sandal’d, pay our defter court,

Circling the Spirit of the Western Gale,

Where wearied with his flower-caressing sport, 65

Supine he slumbers on a violet bank;

Then with quaint music hymn the parting gleam

By lonely Otter’s sleep-persuading stream;

Or where his wave with loud unquiet song

Dash’d o’er the rocky channel froths along; 70

Or where, his silver waters smooth’d to rest,

The tall tree’s shadow sleeps upon his breast.

VII

Hence thou lingerer, Light!

Eve saddens into Night.

Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view 75

The sombre hours, that round thee stand

With downcast eyes (a duteous band!)

Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew.

Sorceress of the ebon throne!

Thy power the Pixies own, 80

When round thy raven brow

Heaven’s lucent roses glow,

And clouds in watery colours drest

Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest:

What time the pale moon sheds a softer day 85

Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam:

For mid the quivering light ‘tis ours to play,

Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.

VIII

Welcome, Ladies! to the cell

Where the blameless Pixies dwell: 90

But thou, Sweet Nymph! proclaim’d our Faery Queen,

With what obeisance meet

Thy presence shall we greet?

For lo! attendant on thy steps are seen

Graceful Ease in artless stole, 95

And white-robed Purity of soul,

With Honour’s softer mien;

Mirth of the loosely-flowing hair,

And meek-eyed Pity eloquently fair,

Whose tearful cheeks are lovely to the view, 100

As snow-drop wet with dew.

IX

Unboastful Maid! though now the Lily pale

Transparent grace thy beauties meek;

Yet ere again along the impurpling vale,

The purpling vale and elfin-haunted grove, 105

Young Zephyr his fresh flowers profusely throws,

We’ll tinge with livelier hues thy cheek;

And, haply, from the nectar-breathing Rose

Extract a Blush for Love!

THE ROSE

As late each flower that sweetest blows

I pluck’d, the Garden’s pride!

Within the petals of a Rose

A sleeping Love I spied.

Around his brows a beamy wreath 5

Of many a lucent hue;

All purple glow’d his cheek, beneath,

Inebriate with dew.

I softly seiz’d the unguarded Power,

Nor scared his balmy rest: 10

And placed him, caged within the flower,

On spotless Sara’s breast.

But when unweeting of the guile

Awoke the prisoner sweet,

He struggled to escape awhile 15

And stamp’d his faery feet.

Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight

Subdued the impatient boy!

He gazed! he thrill’d with deep delight!

Then clapp’d his wings for joy. 20

‘And O!’ he cried—’Of magic kind

What charms this Throne endear!

Some other Love let Venus find —

I’ll fix my empire here.’

KISSES

Cupid, if storying Legends tell aright,

Once fram’d a rich Elixir of Delight.

A Chalice o’er love-kindled flames he fix’d,

And in it Nectar and Ambrosia mix’d:

With these the magic dews which Evening brings, 5

Brush’d from the Idalian star by faery wings:

Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he join’d,

Each gentler Pleasure of th’ unspotted mind —

Daydreams, whose tints with sportive brightness glow,

And Hope, the blameless parasite of Woe. 10

The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise,

The steamy Chalice bubbled up in sighs;

Sweet sounds transpired, as when the enamour’d Dove

Pours the soft murmuring of responsive Love.

The finish’d work might Envy vainly blame, 15

And ‘Kisses’ was the precious Compound’s name.

With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest,

And breath’d on Sara’s lovelier lips the rest.

THE GENTLE LOOK

Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile,

Why hast thou left me? Still in some fond dream

Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile!

As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam:

What time, in sickly mood, at parting day 5

I lay me down and think of happier years;

Of joys, that glimmer’d in Hope’s twilight ray,

Then left me darkling in a vale of tears.

O pleasant days of Hope — for ever gone!

Could I recall you! — But that thought is vain. 10

Availeth not Persuasion’s sweetest tone

To lure the fleet-wing’d Travellers back again:

Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam

Like the bright Rainbow on a willowy stream.

SONNET: TO THE RIVER OTTER

Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet of the West!

How many various-fated years have past,

What happy and what mournful hours, since last

I skimm’d the smooth thin stone along thy breast,

Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest 5

Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes

I never shut amid the sunny ray,

But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,

Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,

And bedded sand that vein’d with various dyes 10

Gleam’d through thy bright transparence! On my way,

Visions of Childhood! oft have ye beguil’d

Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:

Ah! that once more I were a careless Child!

FIRST DRAFT: AN EFFUSION AT EVENING

WRITTEN IN AUGUST, 1792

Imagination, Mistress of my Love!

Where shall mine Eye thy elfin haunt explore?

Dost thou on yon rich Cloud thy pinions bright

Embathe in amber-glowing Floods of Light?

Or, wild of speed, pursue the track of Day 5

In other worlds to hail the morning Ray?

‘Tis time to bid the faded shadowy Pleasures move

On shadowy Memory’s wings across the Soul of Love;

And thine o’er Winter’s icy plains to fling

Each flower, that binds the breathing Locks of Spring, 10

When blushing, like a bride, from primrose Bower

She starts, awaken’d by the pattering Shower!

Now sheds the setting Sun a purple gleam,

Aid, lovely Sorc’ress! aid the Poet’s dream.

With faery wand O bid my Love arise, 15

The dewy brilliance dancing in her Eyes;

As erst she woke with soul-entrancing Mien

The thrill of Joy extatic yet serene,

When link’d with Peace I bounded o’er the Plain

And Hope itself was all I knew of Pain! 20

Propitious Fancy hears the votive sigh —

The absent Maiden flashes on mine Eye!

When first the matin Bird with startling Song

Salutes the Sun his veiling Clouds among,

{ accustom’d

I trace her footsteps on the { steaming Lawn, 25

I view her glancing in the gleams of Dawn!

When the bent Flower beneath the night-dew weeps

And on the Lake the silver Lustre sleeps,

Amid the paly Radiance soft and sad

She meets my lonely path in moonbeams clad. 30

With her along the streamlet’s brink I rove;

With her I list the warblings of the Grove;

And seems in each low wind her voice to float,

Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing Note!

As oft in climes beyond the western Main 35

Where boundless spreads the wildly-silent Plain,

The savage Hunter, who his drowsy frame

Had bask’d beneath the Sun’s unclouded Flame,

Awakes amid the tempest-troubled air,

The Thunder’s Peal and Lightning’s lurid glare — 40

Aghast he hears the rushing Whirlwind’s Sweep,

And sad recalls the sunny hour of Sleep!

So lost by storms along Life’s wild’ring Way

Mine Eye reverted views that cloudless Day,

When, —— ! on thy banks I joy’d to rove 45

While Hope with kisses nurs’d the infant Love!

Sweet —— ! where Pleasure’s streamlet glides

Fann’d by soft winds to curl in mimic tides;

Where Mirth and Peace beguile the blameless Day;

And where Friendship’s fixt star beams a mellow’d Ray; 50

Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears;

Where soften’d Sorrow smiles within her tears;

And Memory, with a Vestal’s meek employ,

Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of Joy!

No more thy Sky Larks less’ning from my sight 55

Shall thrill th’ attunéd Heartstring with delight;

No more shall deck thy pensive Pleasures sweet

With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat!

Yet dear to [My] Fancy’s Eye thy varied scene

Of Wood, Hill, Dale and sparkling Brook between: 60

Yet sweet to [My] Fancy’s Ear the warbled song,

That soars on Morning’s wing thy fields among!

Scenes of my Hope! the aching Eye ye leave,

Like those rich Hues that paint the clouds of Eve!

Tearful and saddening with the sadden’d Blaze 65

Mine Eye the gleam pursues with wistful Gaze —

Sees Shades on Shades with deeper tint impend,

Till chill and damp the moonless Night descend!

LINES: ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING

O thou wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more

Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds explore!

Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight

Bath’d in rich amber-glowing floods of light;

Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day, 5

With western peasants hail the morning ray!

Ah! rather bid the perish’d pleasures move,

A shadowy train, across the soul of Love!

O’er Disappointment’s wintry desert fling

Each flower that wreath’d the dewy locks of Spring, 10

When blushing, like a bride, from Hope’s trim bower

She leapt, awaken’d by the pattering shower.

Now sheds the sinking Sun a deeper gleam,

Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet’s dream!

With faery wand O bid the Maid arise, 15

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes;

As erst when from the Muses’ calm abode

I came, with Learning’s meed not unbestowed;

When as she twin’d a laurel round my brow,

And met my kiss, and half return’d my vow, 20

O’er all my frame shot rapid my thrill’d heart,

And every nerve confess’d the electric dart.

O dear Deceit! I see the Maiden rise,

Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright-blue eyes!

When first the lark high-soaring swells his throat, 25

Mocks the tir’d eye, and scatters the loud note,

I trace her footsteps on the accustom’d lawn,

I mark her glancing mid the gleam of dawn.

When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps

And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps, 30

Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,

She meets my lonely path in moonbeams clad.

With her along the streamlet’s brink I rove;

With her I list the warblings of the grove;

And seems in each low wind her voice to float 35

Lone-whispering Pity in each soothing note!

Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey

The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.

Whether on clust’ring pinions ye are there,

Where rich snows blossom on the Myrtle-trees, 40

Or with fond languishment around my fair

Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;

O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,

Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!

Spirits! to you the infant Maid was given 45

Form’d by the wond’rous Alchemy of Heaven!

No fairer Maid does Love’s wide empire know,

No fairer Maid e’er heav’d the bosom’s snow.

A thousand Loves around her forehead fly;

A thousand Loves sit melting in her eye; 50

Love lights her smile — in Joy’s red nectar dips

His myrtle flower, and plants it on her lips.

She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song —

Still, Fancy! still that voice, those notes prolong.

As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls 55

Shall wake the soften’d echoes of Heaven’s Halls!Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God!

A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem

To shield my Love from Noontide’s sultry beam: 60

Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose od’rous boughs

My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows.

When Twilight stole across the fading vale,

To fan my Love I’d be the Evening Gale;

Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, 65

And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!

On Seraph wing I’d float a Dream by night,

To soothe my Love with shadows of delight: —

Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies,

And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes! 70

As when the Savage, who his drowsy frame

Had bask’d beneath the Sun’s unclouded flame,

Awakes amid the troubles of the air,

The skiey deluge, and white lightning’s glare —

Aghast he scours before the tempest’s sweep, 75

And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep: —

So tossed by storms along Life’s wild’ring way,

Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,

When by my native brook I wont to rove,

While Hope with kisses nurs’d the Infant Love. 80

Dear native brook! like Peace, so placidly

Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!

Dear native brook! where first young Poesy

Stared wildly-eager in her noontide dream!

Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet’s cheek, 85

As water-lilies ripple thy slow stream!

Dear native haunts! where Virtue still is gay,

Where Friendship’s fix’d star sheds a mellow’d ray,

Where Love a crown of thornless Roses wears,

Where soften’d Sorrow smiles within her tears; 90

And Memory, with a Vestal’s chaste employ,

Unceasing feeds the lambent flame of joy!

No more your skylarks melting from the sight

Shall thrill the attunéd heart-string with delight —

No more shall deck your pensive Pleasures sweet 95

With wreaths of sober hue my evening seat.

Yet dear to Fancy’s eye your varied scene

Of wood, hill, dale, and sparkling brook between!

Yet sweet to Fancy’s ear the warbled song,

That soars on Morning’s wing your vales among. 100

Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye leave

Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve!

Tearful and saddening with the sadden’d blaze

Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze:

Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, 105

Till chill and damp the moonless night descend

TO FORTUNE

TO THE EDITOR OF THE ‘MORNING CHRONICLE’

SIR, — The following poem you may perhaps deem admissible into

your journal — if not, you will commit it

— I am, with more respect and gratitude than I

ordinarily feel for Editors of Papers, your obliged, &c.,

CANTAB. — S. T. C.

TO FORTUNE

On buying a Ticket in the Irish Lottery

Composed during a walk to and from the Queen’s Head, Gray’s

Inn Lane, Holborn, and Hornsby’s and Co., Cornhill.

Promptress of unnumber’d sighs,

O snatch that circling bandage from thine eyes!

O look, and smile! No common prayer

Solicits, Fortune! thy propitious care!

For, not a silken son of dress, 5

I clink the gilded chains of politesse,

Nor ask thy boon what time I scheme

Unholy Pleasure’s frail and feverish dream;

Nor yet my view life’s dazzle blinds —

Pomp! — Grandeur! Power! — I give you to the winds! 10

Let the little bosom cold

Melt only at the sunbeam ray of gold —

My pale cheeks glow — the big drops start —

The rebel Feeling riots at my heart!

And if in lonely durance pent, 15

Thy poor mite mourn a brief imprisonment —

That mite at Sorrow’s faintest sound

Leaps from its scrip with an elastic bound!

But oh! if ever song thine ear

Might soothe, O haste with fost’ring hand to rear 20

One Flower of Hope! At Love’s behest,

Trembling, I plac’d it in my secret breast:

And thrice I’ve view’d the vernal gleam,

Since oft mine eye, with Joy’s electric beam,

Illum’d it — and its sadder hue 25

Oft moisten’d with the Tear’s ambrosial dew!

Poor wither’d floweret! on its head

Has dark Despair his sickly mildew shed!

But thou, O Fortune! canst relume

Its deaden’d tints — and thou with hardier bloom 30

May’st haply tinge its beauties pale,

And yield the unsunn’d stranger to the western gale!