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ABSENCE. Makes the Heart grow
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR JESUS
WHERE graced with many a classic spoil
I haste to urge the learned toil
That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Illumed by Passion's orient rays,
When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
The sun, who ne'er remits his fires,
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, Death came with friendly care;
The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.
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.
WHOм the untaught Shepherds call
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.
Here the wren of softest note
Builds its nest and warbles well;
When fades the moon to shadowy-pale,
But not our filmy pinion
We scorch amid the blaze of day,
Flashes the fervid ray.
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.
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.
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,