Classic Poem

AN ODE .

Hail, solemn visionary hour!
Thy silent, dim return I greet;
No gleam to gild yon mouldering tower,
No sound for echo to repeat.

Sweet sprite of eve! that lov'st to glide
In silence mid the twilight sky,
Whose form can only be descried
By musing Fancy's favour'd eye!

Sweet sprite! by whose aerial power
Are Fancy's finest visions wrought,
That hoverest at this fairy hour,
To prompt the soft, the pensive thought!

Sweet sprite! with whom my youth hath shed,
Full oft the tender pleasing tear,
Whose form has thrill'd my breast with dread,
What strain may please thine hallow'd ear!

With thee the raptur'd bard resorts,
To thee resigns his soul sublime,
To range mid terror's awful courts!
To glance beyond the bounds of time!

Thy milder influence too, hath taught
His soul in melting strains to grieve,
Strains that, with softest sadness fraught,
Shall gentle bosoms deeply heave.

Oh! may to me thine aspect wear
The sweet, the inexpressive grace
Of her my breast still holds so dear,
Of her whom Fancy loves to trace.

And when I rove the heath along,
Or mid some dark dell lingering stray,
To meditate my simple song,
Oh thou! inspire the rustic lay!

And if the mellow moon-light fall
On haunted grove, or vale remote,
O then thy fairy minstrels call
To swell the fine voluptuous note.

And when, beneath those willows' boughs.
On yon old mossy bridge I lean,
To watch the lone stream as it flows,
Restore some pleasing long lost scene.

And when, in solemn tones, the wind
Sweeps through yon abbey's crannied cells,
With dread accordance may my mind
Swell, as the deepening music swells.

But, if the dark clouds, tempest-blown,
Roll in their dreadful depth of shade,
If Night, with terrors round him thrown,
Thy calm, thy soothing reign invade,

The threatening scene I then will leave,
And to my low-rooft cot retire,
There sing thy praise, sweet sprite of Eve!
If thou my listening soul inspire.