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ABSENCE. Makes the Heart grow
the Heart grow tonder.


WHERE graced with many a classic spoil
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,

I haste to urge the learned toil

That sternly chides my love-lorn song:
Ah me! too mindful of the days

Illumed by Passion's orient rays,

When Peace, and Cheerfulness, and Health
Enriched me with the best of wealth.
Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul
On Memory's wing, like shadows, fly!
Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole
While Innocence stood smiling by!-
But cease, fond Heart! this bootless moan:
Those Hours on rapid Pinions flown
Shall yet return, by Absence crowned,
And scatter livelier roses round.

The sun, who ne'er remits his fires,
On heedless eyes may pour the day :
The Moon, that oft from Heaven retires,
Endears her renovated ray.

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.


ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care;

The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.


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
Pixies in their madrigal,
Fancy's children, here we dwell:

Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.

Here the wren of softest note

Builds its nest and warbles well;
Here the blackbird strains his throat;
Welcome, Ladies! to our cell.


When fades the moon to shadowy-pale,
And scuds the cloud before the gale,
Ere the Morn, all gem-bedight,
Hath streak'd the East with rosy light,
We sip the furze-flower's fragrant dew's
Clad in robes of rainbow hues:
Or sport amid the shooting gleams
To the tune of distant-tinkling teams,
While lusty Labour, scouting sorrow,
Bids the dame a glad good-morrow,
Who jogs the accustomed road along,
And paces cheery to her cheering song.


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

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
Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song,
By Indolence and Fancy brought,

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
Many a rudely sculptured name
To pensive Memory dear!

Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue
We glance before his view;

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;
On leaves of aspen trees

We tremble to the breeze

Veiled from the grosser ken of mortal sight.
Or, haply, at the visionary hour,

Along our wildly-bowered sequestered walk,
We listen to the enamoured rustic's talk;

Heave with the heavings of the maiden's breast,

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