Many Summers, many Winters-
I can't tell half his adventures.
At length he came back, and with him a She,
And the acorn was grown to a tall oak tree.
They built them a nest in the topmost bough,
And young ones they had, and were happy enow.
But soon came a woodman in leathern guise,
His brow, like a pent-house, hung over his eyes.
He'd an axe in his hand, not a word he spoke,
But with many a hem! and a sturdy stroke,
At length he brought down the poor Raven's own oak.
His young ones were killed; for they could not depart,
And their mother did die of a broken heart.
The boughs from the trunk the woodman did sever; And they floated it down on the course of the river. They sawed it in planks, and its bark they did strip, And with this tree and others they made a good ship. The ship, it was launched; but in sight of the land Such a storm there did rise as no ship could withstand. It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast: Round and round flew the Raven, and cawed to the blast.
He heard the last shriek of the perishing souls-
See! See! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls!
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet,
And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet,
And he thanked him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all, and Revenge it was sweet!
We must not think so, but forget and forgive;
And what Heaven gives life to, we'll still let it live.
A FAREWELL ODE ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR
JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
HERE 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.
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
WRITTEN IN EARLY YOUTH.
THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing! No
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds
explore!
Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
With western peasants hail the morning ray!
Ah! rather bid the perished pleasures move,
A shadowy train, across the soul of Love!
O'er disappointment's wintry desert fling
Each flower that wreathed the dewy locks of Spring,
When blushing, like a bride, from hope's trim bower
She leapt, awakened by the pattering shower.
Now sheds the sinking sun a deeper gleam,
Aid, lovely Sorceress! aid thy Poet's dream!
With faery wand O bid the maid arise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes;
As erst when from the Muses' calm abode
I came, with learning's meed not unbestowed;
When as she twined a laurel round my brow,
And met my kiss, and half returned my vow,
O'er all my frame shot rapid my thrilled heart,
And every nerve confessed the electric dart.
O dear deceit! I see the maiden rise,
Chaste Joyance dancing in her bright blue eyes!
When first the lark high soaring swells his throat,
Mocks the tired eye, and scatters the loud note,
I trace her footsteps on the accustomed lawn,
I mark her glancing 'mid the gleam of dawn.
When the bent flower beneath the night-dew weeps
And on the lake the silver lustre sleeps,
Amid the paly radiance soft and sad,
She meets my lonely path in moon-beams clad.
With her along the streamlet's brink I rove;
With her I list the warblings of the grove;
And seems in each low wind her voice to float,
Lone whispering Pity in each soothing note!
Spirits of Love! ye heard her name! Obey
The powerful spell, and to my haunt repair.
Whether on clustering pinions ye are there,
Where rich snows blossom on the myrtle trees,
Or with fond languishment around my fair
Sigh in the loose luxuriance of her hair;
O heed the spell, and hither wing your way,
Like far-off music, voyaging the breeze!
Spirits! to you the infant maid was given
Formed by the wonderous alchemy of Heaven!
No fairer maid does love's wide empire know,
No fairer maid e'er heaved the bosom's snow.
A thousand loves around her forehead fly;
A thousand loves sit melting in her eye;
Love lights her smile-in joy's bright nectar dips
The flamy rose, and plants it on her lips.
Tender, serene, and all devoid of guile,
Soft is her soul, and sleeping infant's smile;
She speaks! and hark that passion-warbled song-
Still, fancy! still those mazy notes prolong,
As sweet as when that voice with rapturous falls Shall wake the softened echoes of Heaven's halls!
O (have I sighed) were mine the wizard's rod,
Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful god!
A flower-entangled arbour I would seem
To shield my love from noontide's sultry beam:
Or bloom a myrtle, from whose odorous boughs
My love might weave gay garlands for her brows.
When twilight stole across the fading vale,
To fan my love I'd be the evening gale;
Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest,
And flutter my faint pinions on her breast!
On Seraph wing I'd float a dream by night,
To soothe my love with shadows of delight:-
Or soar aloft to be the spangled skies,
And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes!
As when the savage, who his drowsy frame
Had basked beneath the sun's unclouded flame,
Awakes amid the troubles of the air,
The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glare-
Aghast he scours before the tempest's sweep,
And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :—
So tossed by storms along life's wildering way,
Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day,
When by my native brook I wont to rove,
While hope with kisses nursed the infant love.
Dear native brook! like peace, so placidly
Smoothing through fertile fields thy current meek!
Dear native brook! where first young Poesy
Stared wildly eager in her noon-tide dream!
Where blameless pleasures dimple Quiet's cheek,
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