What though she leave the sky unblest To mourn awhile in murky vest? When she relumes her lovely Light, We bless the Wanderer of the Night. EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, 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 ciphers, among which the Author discovered his own 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. WHOм the untaught Shepherds call Welcome, Ladies! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note Builds its nest and warbles well; II. When fades the moon to shadowy-pale, III. But not our filmy pinion We scorch amid the blaze of day, Aye from the sultry heat We to the cave retreat O'ercanopied by huge roots intertwined With wildest texture, blackened o'er with age: Round them their mantle green the ivies bind, Beneath whose foliage pale Fanned by the unfrequent gale We shield us from the Tyrant's mid-day rage. IV. Thither, while the murmuring throng A youthful Bard, "unknown to Fame," As round our sandy grot appear Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue O'er his hush'd soul our soothing witcheries shed And twine the future garland round his head. V. When Evening's dusky car Crowned with her dewy star Steals o'er the fading sky in shadowy flight; We tremble to the breeze Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight. Along our wildly-bowered sequestered walk, 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 VI. Or through the mystic ringlets of the vale Supine he slumbers on a violet bank; VII. Hence, thou lingerer, Light! Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view Thy power the Pixies own, |