PART OF THE

FIFTH ELEGY OF MILTON IMITATED.

BY THE REV. H. BOYD.

OLD Time again renews his circling dance,
And wakens Nature from her yearly trance;
He calls the western gales; the gales obey,
And o'er the plains their breezy wings display.
Once more the fields renew their transient bloom,
And, gently thaw'd, their vernal vest resume.
Was it a dream? Or did a heaven-sent ray
Visit my soul, and let in more than day?—
It was no dream, the tuneful god returns,

My thoughts mount heavenward, and my fancy burns.
Returning Spring renews the mental soil,

And wakes her powers for some unusual toil.
Castalia's gifted streams I seem to hear!

Her cloud-cap'd summits in my dreams appear!
With holy themes I feel my bosom glow,
Prompted by heaven, spontaneous numbers flow;
The power appears, his laurels nod afar,
Imagination mounts his burning car.

Thro' vagrant clouds my disembodied flight
Visits the smile of day, the frown of ancient night.
Th' eternal mansions of the bards I see,
Her mystic wonders heaven displays to me:
Above, her pomp unfolds, her splendours glow,
And hell her stage of horrors spreads below.
What heaven-sent rapture swells my heaving breast?
What sacred fury thus invades my rest?

'Tis Spring, which gives my kindling fancy birth,
Glad Spring, whose nuptial zone adorns the earth:

She wakes the woodland choirs, the Muse's strain, O may she never call the Muse in vain!

*

Now midst her infant blooms, the vocal grove
Hears Philomel renew her strains of love.
Here, to Augusta's heedless crowds I sing.
Her lonely descant celebrates the Spring;
Season of life and joy, whose welcome reign
From every voice demands a tributary strain!

*

Now Sol remounts the wide ethereal road, And cold Boötes hails the coming God. Old Night her falling tyranny deplores, Her banner furls, and half disbands her powers. And ere Calisto wheels her tardy round, Thro' the wide circuit of the blue profound, Her frighted coursers meet, with pale dismay, The purple vaward of ascending day. Nor round the palace on th' Olympian steep The starry hosts their livelong vigils keep; The time is past for stratagem and fraud, No ambush'd giants threat the thund'ring god. WHEN, chac'd by light, the parting shadows flee From yon high cliff, that overlooks the sea, Some early shepherd hails the Lord of day, As o'er the flood he points his level ray. "The wat❜ry fair*, with all her boasted charms, "Not long detain'd you in her azure arms; "Or, haply when you touch'd th' Atlantic wave, "Deceiv'd thy flame, and sought her pearly cave!" GLAD Cynthia now resigns her cloudy car, And seeks the woodland range of sportive war; And, pleas'd her brother grants an easier task, Doffs her pale crescent, and nocturnal mask.

*Thetis.

His rosy portress thus the flame-rob'd god, Ere his bright wheels have mark'd the heav'nly road, Accosts, "O leave the couch of languid age, "An hoary spouse*, in life's declining stage, "Befits not thee! Behold! thy hunter boy "On yonder hill expects the coming joy!" Love's crimson glow detects the conscious dame, Yet fast she plies her steeds, and hastes to crown her flame. EARTH Smiles in youthful pomp. She flings aside Her mourning stole; and, like a youthful bride, Displays the allurements of her vernal zone, And, softly smiling, courts the distant sun: Nor courts in vain, the queen's imperial charms Subdue the monarch, and his pride disarms. Her nuptial crown she wears, a rosy wreath, And all Arabia whispers in her breath. Hark! how she wooes him from yon spicy grove, (A scene, like Cybele's recess of love) Her handmaid Flora decks the wedded fair, And adds new charms to her majestic air. Like Proserpine, in Enna's vales beheld She seems, when gloomy Dis his love reveal'd. Hark! how the vernal gales invite thy stay, And every amorous breeze their queen betray! From their soft bed, in India's spicy grove They breathe of Paradise, and whisper love: No dowerless maid invites her lover's smiles, Nor with blank penury thy suit beguiles: Besides her wealth, in boundless prospect seen, Her flowery chaplet, and her vest of green, Beneath her blue hills, and her pendent woods, Deep in the bosom of her swelling floods, She boasts her untold subterranean stores, Her mineral chambers, and her gemmy floors. * Tithonus, husband to Aurora.

A SONG.

BY MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

SWEET is the balmy evening hour;
And mild the glow-worms' light;
And soft the breeze that sweeps the flower,
With pearly dew-drops bright.

I love to loiter on the hill,

And catch each trembling ray ;Fair as they are they mind me still Of fairer things than they.

What is the breath of closing flowers,

But feeling's gentlest sigh?

What are the dew-drops' crystal showers,

But tears from Pity's eye!

What are the glow-worms by the rill

But fancy's flashes gay?

I love them, for they mind me still
Of one more dear than they.

A MORNING SALUTATION.

TH

HOU rose of my love! from thy slumber arise!
The dawn from the orient empurples the skies;
The lark the blue regions of ether explores,
And exultingly trills his wild notes as he soars;
Now they sink in soft murmurs, now rapid and clear
All their melodies pour on the wondering ear;
The drops of the dew, liquid gems of the morn,
Dart their tremulous rays from the white-blossom'd
thorn,

And opening its leaves to the breath of the gales,
Each bloom and each floret its fragrance exhales.
But nor odours, nor songs, nor bright hues can impart
A pleasure to gladden thy lover's fond heart,
When absent from thee he still thinks on thy charms;
And sighs to be folded once more in thine arms!
Then, rose of my love! in thy beauty appear,
And the songs and the odours again will be dear;
The beams of the dawn with fresh glory be crown'd,
And the soul of delight breathe enchantment around.

R. A. DAVENPORT.