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THE

PARNASSIAN GARLAND.

ODE FOR THE YEAR, 1797.

BY MR. R. DAVENPORT.

O! to his task, the infant year
Comes forth; no boding frown severe

Scowls on his brow, but smiling mild,
He feems of dove-ey'd peace the child!
No numbing wand his young hand holds,
No hoary vest his form enfolds,
No angry blasts around him rave :-
The spirit of the storm sleeps in his icy cave,
He fleeps. Still wakes a fiercer far,
His dark brow trench'd with many a scar;
His voice loud as the vext-wave's roar,
His fable armour stain'd with gore;
Stern war! his fiery arm the plain
Crimfons with countless legions flain,
While round him famine, dark despair,
And the wild grifly forms of lust and rapine glare.

Frantic each breathless couse he spurns,
His ardent eye with fury burns.
Scar'd by his lurid frowns, the choir
Of weeping virtues sad retire;

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Far from the battle's horrid yell,
In peace and folitude to dwell,

Where no lorn widow's tender wail,

No shriek, no dying groan, hangs heavy on the gale.

But, with firm gaze, the deathless muse,

His whirlwind-course indignant views.
Sees him, for conquest and for fame,
Spread wide the wildly-wasting flame;

With lafting infamy she brands

His laurels torn from ravag'd lands;
Then, borne on feraph wings fublime,

She turns from fields of blood, and seeks a milder clime.

How long, alas! must nature mourn
Her fairest works by rude hands torn,
And tremble as the clarion's breath
Commands her fons to deeds of death?
While, red, before her dewy eyes,
The flames from burning hamlets rife,
Where loft her babes the mother stands,

And calls on heav'n for aid, and frenzied wrings her hands.

When shall again, at dawning day,
Wak'd by the shrill lark's matin lay,
In safety o'er the furrow'd foil,
The peafant haften to his toil;
And, at mild eve his labour done,
Blithe carrol, to the setting fun;
Bleft once more in his lowly cot,
To clasp his wife belov'd, each gloomy care forgot?

Soon may ye dawn auspicious hours!
Then bright-cy'd pleasure crown'd with flow'rs,
Shall lead the dance in shady dell;
While feeble age past woes shall tell,
And gain a figh from pity meek:
Then, rofy love with dimpled-cheek,
His light hair floating round his head,
Shail to the laughing gale his snowy banner spread.

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HA

ADDRESS TO POI

BY MISS ANNA MARIA P

With Qu

AIL, heavenly maid! thou source of ... Say, can a humble suppliant's untaught von Be heard by thee, where thron'd in vernal bowers/ Of living laurel, near Pierian fount, O'er the immortal chords that string thy lyre, Thy fingers sweep, and a whole world refounds To the vibrations of thy tuneful song? Ah! if thine ear can list a mortal harp, Bend now to mine, and with benignant eye Smile on my fond request.-Ambitious with!I ask to catch thy thought-inspiring breath, To warble trancing lays resembling thine, The foul of love to melt along my line, Sigh in each word, and tremble thro' the song: I seek the power to touch the gentle heart, With bleeding sympathy, and kind concern.O! for such strains as in the early days Sighing you breathed into the liftening ear Of widow'd Orpheus, on the Thracian shore. When on his lost Eurydice he call'd In sounds, which had they floated on the air To Pluto's manfions, had once more recall'd Her fleeting spirit! ne'er again to fly! O! for fuch lays, as hopeless Petrarch fung In latter times; when on his darken'd soul The fun of rapture, and of beauty, set In Laura's grave: when 'neath the pitying moon, And fighing trees, along the dreary shore, He stray'd alone, and pour'd upon the cold, The lifeless urn of her, whom ftill he lov'd, The burning gush of agonizing tears!Vain, vain the wish; this heart perhaps may feel As many woes, as the fond bosoms tore Of Orpheus, and of Petrarch; but it ne'er Shall figh its fick foul on the sadden'd wind, In tones so touching, so dissolving sweet: It ne'er shall call a world's unbounded tear,

ys!

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fudden grief, and sympathy refin'd.-
Fareen of the human heart, the human mind!
Twilt thou not hear a youthful votary's voice?-
Ah, no! away she turns her frowning face,
And scatters to the wind my useless prayers.
Leave, leave me not for ever facred muse!
But O! inspire the verfe, that fings thy praise;
O! deign to shed upon my lifeless page,
One radiant sparkle from thy kindling eye;
I will no longer ask its fun of beams-
No-keep fuch transport for the happy few
Who at thy fide in tender friendship rove,
Thro' wilds romantic, fairy-painted scenes,
Where never yet has foot unhallowed trod,
Where Philomel for ever weeps her griefs
Soft on the woodland's ear; where, never ftill,
For ever murmurs the poetic stream;
Where youthful zephyr leans his airy head
On fummer's musky breast, or leads her o'er
(With flying footsteps) the blue mountain's top-
Where Fame, a huntress clad in sylvan green,
Calls thy lov'd train to speed the noble chase,
Herself the inviter, and herself the game :-
Where amid labyrinths of dewy rose,
Of fragrant myrtles, and of blushing vine,
Young Love! encircled by his fairy band,
His light hair waving on his purple cheek,
His waxen bosom bare, his bow unstrung,
His eye all foftness, and his breath all balm,
Leads thro' the mazes of the Lydian dance
The gold-trefs'd Psyche, and the Graces three,
With looks in dangerous languor fweetly dreft,
And voice tun'd only to deceive and please.
Ah! I shall ne'er be with fuch friendship blest,
Nor rove thro' shades that hallow ev'ry form-
Yet, while some scanty favours thou wilt grant,
With Fancy I may trace these flow'ry wilds;
For, at her word, what magic pageants rife!
Unnumber'd as the light-illumin'd clouds
That float beneath the fun's effulgent ray;
At her command along the rushy moor,

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PARNASSIAN GARLAND.

The broad lake spreads, and o'er its twilight edge,
Wave the young poplar, and the willow pale,-
Here, rocks afcend, in grand confufion mixed,
O'er whose bold tops, in flowering cistus clad,
Hang bending firs, and firmly-rooted pines;
Where high in air, the godlike eagle fits,
The Agamemnon of the feather'd world.
There as the smiling forceress waves her wing,
Flows out the smooth Savannah's funny vest,
Robed in fuch hues as are alternate seen
On the young turtles gaily-shifting neck.
Here, from the orb of day, meek-flushing, turns
The radiant rose, and bathful hides her charms
In other graces, moss, and vivid leaves-
There, lifts the lily its refplendent head
With confcious dignity, a maiden queen,
She neither seeks, nor shuns, the eye of day.
Fancy can bid the softest zephyr's blow,
Fancy can load them with ten thousand scents,
More sweet than all the spicy breath of Inde;
Her word can make a new creation rise,
And mid deep glooms, and fullen-roaring waves,
(When o'er the scene her magic robe is flung)
She can on fight, on smell, and on the ear,
Pour beauty, balm, and liquid-lulling founds.
But, ah! the enchantress wants for me the power
To make me dream, I hear thy dulcet voice
When prompted by the whispers of my foul,
And fighing love, I wake my fimple reed.

A

THE FADED FLOWER.

H! lovely, drooping beauty, tell
How sharp has been thy lot,
Since thy sweet-scented charms first fell,
As erft thou deck'st the knot;

Where many a fragrant flower beside,
Hath blossom'd forth its day;
Wast thou, long time, the village pride,
And shone in colours gay?

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