"And hail, auspicious morn!

Still may the lively pulse of joy

Confess thy glad return;

Still may the harp and song employ

The sacred hour when first thy trembling beams
The nodding groves and purling streams,
And shady grots adorn,"

T was thus the hoary druids rais'd the song,
While by the sacred hill and grove,
Where misletoe the oaks enwove,

All clad in snowy white, august, they march'd along.

The fawns came trooping o'er the furrow'd land,
On Snowdon's cliffs the kids attentive stand,
While to Creation's morn, the opening May,
The master druid thus resum'd the lay:

"Awake, ye gales, your fragrance shed;
Ye mountain cedars, bend the head;
Ye clouds of incense, from Arabia rise;
Balmy, as after vernal rains,
Display, fair East, thy beauteous plains,
As one great altar fuming to the skies!

T is Nature's birth demands the lay,
Ye western isles, the grateful tribute pay;
Ye flocks, that clothe with fleecy white
The steep ascending mountain's height,
Or round the hamlet bleat along the lea,
Your voices raise ;-ye heifers, low,
And from the furzy dells below,
Ye falling riv'lets, swell the harmony!

"Retain, ye hills, the solemn sound, Till Echo through her fairy round Repeat it to the silent list'ning vale;

Raise, raise, ye bards, the melody,

Wide spread the hands, low bend the knee,
And on Creation's morn the great Creator hail!"
"Attend," they sung, "ye aërial bands-
O from the blood-polluted East,
Hither, ye guardian spirits, haste!
Here each flow'r of fragrant smell,
Each plant that aids the druid's spell
Your fostering care demands.

"For you the blossom'd boughs embow'r
The craggy glittering steep,
Along whose rifts the cowslips creep,

And dashing fountains pour :

For you the sweet-briar clothes the bank,
For you, along the bord'ring mead,

The white and yellow flow'rs that love the dank,
Their wat❜ry carpets spread.

O come, propitious, and our rites befriend,
Till o'er the nodding tow'rs the silent night descend!
O join the song, and far shall fly

Fach demon, who beneath the midnight sky
Rides on the screech-owl's wing, and far around

"Wave, my sons, the misletoe;
Wave the sacred branch on high:
Round our steps the spring-flow'rs strew,
Flow'rs of bright and cheerful dye,
Symbols of untainted youth,
Of glowing love and holy truth.

Strew, my sons, the mystic grove."
He spake and instant round they spread
Chaplets, where the yellow hue
Was mix'd with flow'rs of lively blue,
Where snow-white lilies with the blossoms red,
The apple boughs enwove.

"All hail, ye venerable shades!"
Thus rose the hallow'd strain,
Ye cloudy steeps, and winding glades,
All hail and by your silver rills,
Your rosy dells, and thymy hills,
SHALL LASTING FREEDOM REIGN."

ODE III. VICISSITUDE,

-RAPT in thought, that bids thee rise
In all thy forms before mine eyes,
I glow with joy to see thee come
In rosy health and youthful bloom:
And now, cold horrour trembles o'er my soul,
When thou in blank uncertainty array'd,
With iron-hearted deaf control
Throw'st all around thy awful, dubious shade.

Oh, give my song, mysterious pow'r,
The joys and terrours of thy sway to tell,
Thy sway o'er universal nature spread,
The sweetest hope of man, and darkest dread!
Behold, where shiv'ring in the rattling hail,

While drizzling black clouds o'er him lower,
Bent o'er his staff, with livid visage feil,
Dull Winter stays his creeping step to pause,
And wishful turns his icy eyes

On April's meads. Beck'ning on flow'ry May,
With gentle shadowy hand thou mov'st away
The ling'ring churl. Swift o'er the primrose dale
The new-wak'd bee his humming labour plies;
And sudden from each budding grove,
Incense to Heav'n, the songs of love
Attest rejoicing Nature's glad applause.

Glist'ning with dew the green-hair'd Spring Walks through the woods, and smiling in her train, Youth flutters gay on cherub wing,

And life exulting lifts the eye to Heaven.

And crown'd with bearded grain,
And hay-grass breathing odours bland,

ling wound.

"Then happy o'er our blissful bowers,
Here shall the peaceful day decline,
While fled from scenes of blood and woe,
Th' aerial friendly powers

In ev'ry stream's melodious flow,
In ev'ry concert of the grove shall join,
Shall lightly touch the shadowy lyre,
While with the dawn our joyous choir
Renew the holy rites from Heav'n receiv'd,
When with the sons of God our godlike fathers liv'd.

Anon bis place is given

To veteran Autumn: yellow glows His waving robe: with conscious mien sublime He proudly lifts his sun-brown'd brows

High o'er the loaded clime.

For him the full-orb'd Moon with orange rays
Gilds mild the night; for him her course delays;
And jolly wealth lies wide beneath his hand,

But soon decrepit age he shows,
And all his golden honours past,
Naked before October's blast,

He flies the plunder'd land.

With hoary-bearded cheek and front severe,
Of angry fretful scowl, from forest wild,
Now rheum-ey'd Winter hastens to the plain;
The hollow blast low groaning in his ear:
Round his bald head the brown leaves drift amain;
And soon his snowy mantle wide he throws

O'er vale and hill, and isicles he weeps.
The Sun withdraws his golden rays,
And short his cold diurnal visit pays
With faint and silvery beam,

As listless to disturb the deep repose,
While languid nature sleeps.
Anon to social mirth beguil'd,

Safe from the tempest breme
That howls without, and beating rain,
The tyrant bids the friendly hearth to blaze;
And with the feats of former days,
Of battles dread, and heroes slain,
And valiant deeds of many a knight,
And loves of ladies passing bright,
The long-contented evening sweet he cheers;
While from his day-sport on the ice-bound stream,
Weary return'd, with wonder and delight,
Unrazor'd youth the various legend hears,

These are thy grateful changes, mighty power,
Vicissitude! But far more grateful still
When now from nature's frozen sleep profound,
Invigour'd vegetation wakes,

And Spring with primrose garland crown'd, The seeds of plenty o'er the fuming ground, From her green mantle shakes.

BALLADS.

BALLAD I.

HENGIST AND MEY.

Hæc novimus esse nihil.

In ancient days when Arthur reign'd,
Sir Elmer had no peer;
And no young knight in all the land
The ladies lov'd so dear.

His sister Mey, the fairest maid
Of all the virgin train,
Won every heart at Arthur's court;
But all their love was vain.

In vain they lov'd, in vain they vow'd,
Her heart they could not move;
Yet at the ev'ning hour of prayer
Her mind was lost in love.

The abbess saw-the abbess knew, And urg'd her to explain;

"O name the gentle youth to me, And his consent I'll gain."

Long urg'd, long tir'd, fair Mey reply'd, "His name-how can I say?

An angel from the fields above
Has rapt my heart away.

"But once, alas! and never more,

His lovely form I spied;
One evening by the sounding shore,
All by the green wood side.

"His eyes to mine the love confess'd,
That glow'd with mildest grace;
His courtly mien and purple vest
Bespoke his princely race.

"But when he heard my brother's horn, Fast to his ships he fled;

Yet while I sleep, his graceful form
Still hovers round my bed.

"Sometimes, all clad in armour bright,
He shakes a warlike lance;
And now, in courtly garments dight,
He leads the sprightly dance.

"His hair, as black as raven's wing;
"His skin-as Christmas snow;
His cheeks outvie the blush of morn,
"His lips like rose-buds glow.

"His limbs, his arms, his stature, shap'd By Nature's finest hand;

His sparkling eyes declare him born
To love, and to command."

The live-long year fair Mey bemoan'd
Her hopeless pining love:
But when the balmy spring return'd,
And summer cloth'd the grove;

All round by pleasant Humber's side

The Saxon banners flew,

And to sir Elmer's castle gates

The spear-men came in view.

Fair blush'd the morn, when Mey look'd o'er The castle walls so sheen;

And lo! the warlike Saxon youth

Were sporting on the green.

There Hengist, Offa's eldest son, Lean'd on his burnish'd lance, And all the armed youth around Obey'd his manly glance.

His locks, as black as raven's wing,
Adown his shoulders flow'd;
His cheeks outvy'd the blush of morn,
His lips like rose-buds glow'd.

And soon the lovely form of Mey

Has caught his piercing eyes; He gives the sign, the bands retire, While big with love he sighs;

"Oh! thou for whom I dar'd the seas,.
And came with peace or war;
Oh, by that cross that veils thy breast,
Relieve thy lover's care!

"For thee I'll quit my father's throne;
With thee the wilds explore;
Or with thee share the British crown;
With thee the cross adore."

Aghast she stood! athwart the air The dismal screech-owl flew ; The fillet round her auburn hair Asunder burst in two.

Her robe, of softest yellow, glow'd
Beneath the Moon's pale beam;
And o'er the ground, with yew-boughs strew'd,
Effus'd a golden gleam.

The golden gleam the sorceress spy'd,
As in her deepest cell,

At midnight's magic hour she try'd
A tomb-o'erpow'ring spell.

When, from the cavern's dreary womb, Her groaning voice arose,

"O come, my daughter, fearless, come, And fearless tell thy woes."

As shakes the bough of trembling leaf,
When whirlwinds sudden rise;
As stands aghast the warrior chief,
When his base army flies;

So shook, so stood, the beauteous maid,
When from the dreary den

A wrinkled hag came forth, array'd
In matted rags obscene.

Around her brows, with hemloc bound,
Loose hung her ash-grey hair;
As from two dreary caves profound
Her blue-flam'd eye-balls glare.

Her skin, of earthy red, appear'd
Clung round her shoulder bones;
Like wither'd bark, by lightning sear'd,
When loud the tempest groans.

A robe of squalid green and blue
Her ghostly length array'd,
A gaping rent, full to the view,
Her furrow'd ribs betray'd.

"And tell, my daughter, fearless tell,
What sorrow brought thee here?
So may my power thy cares expel,
And give thee sweetest cheer."

"O mistress of the powerful spell,
King Edric's daughter see,
Northumbria to my father fell,
But sorrow fell to me.

"My virgin heart lord Wolfwold won;
My father on him smil'd;
Soon as he gain'd Northumbria's throne,
His pride the youth exil'd.

"Stern Denmark's ravens o'er the seas Their gloomy black wings spread, And o'er Northumbria's hills and leas Their dreadful squadrons sped.

“Return, brave Wolfwold,' Edric cried, "O gen'rous warrior, hear, My daughter's hand, thy willing bride, Awaits thy conq'ving spear.'