HISTORICAL SKETCH. 19 THE MUSE OF HESPERIA. 'TwAS eve : the sun had sunk to rest Sudden, within this fairy ring, Beneath a hill's aspiring crest ; Where Silence moved on silken wing, - But still the gush From harps of heaven Of changeful light illumed the skies, Burst the full songs of seraph-choirs. And tinged the clouds with varying dyes, As angel-fingers touched the lyres. Till faded from our eager eyes And Music breathed with all the fires Its latest blush. To poets given. iTwas eve : the hum of city-crowd. When lo ! from heaven's ethereal height, Now faint and weak, now clear and loud, Encompassed by a sheet of light. The low of kine. A spirit, fair The bleat of sheep on neighboring plains. As ever poet's fancy drew, The milk-maid's song of love-lorn swains. On viewless pinions downward flew, The cow-bow's still more rustic strains, And, hovering full before my view, At once combine. Alighted there. 'Twas eve : the streams and groves along Against a harp her head reclined ; The Whippowil poured forth his song In descant shrill ; Around her brows the laurel twined. This Angel-form, 3 And night's more solitary bird Through me, her idle son, addressed His hoarse and boding song preferred ; My brother Poets of the West, While ever and anon was heard With noble air, this firm behest, Some distant rill. In language warm : 'Twas eve : in woodlands dark and damp. The glow-worm lit his emerald lamp ; " Know, youthful Bards — for scarcely yet Pieria's waves your lips have wet. While to and fro And scarce a wing The fire-flies darted quick and bright, Have you stretched forth in life's gay prime To reach Parnassus' height sublime. As if the countless stars of night Had left their empyrean height To sport below. And scarce essayed in polished rhyme Its charms to sing — " Know, youthful Bards, to me belong 'Twas eve : the toils of daytime o'er. The realms of Genius and of Song : — I strolled along Ohio's shore, Who can refuse Where yonder vale At objects great and good to aim. Meanders through a hundred hills, On Glory's page to write his name, From whose high tops transparent rills And follow on to deathless fame Rush boldly down ; while music fills Hesperia's Muse ? — The evening gale. " Know, youthful Bards, to me are given There, on the grassy shore, a grove, Ten thousand airs from earth and heaven. Sacred to Solitude and Love, From infant hours Spread wide around ; A pupil of the sacred Nine, The moonbeams through the foliage played Reared by Apollo's hand divine, In changeful fits of light and shade ; The soul of Harmony is mine. I trembled — paused — for lo ! I strayed And Music's powers. On fairy ground. " O'er stream, and wood, and grove, and lawn. Now calm and calmer stirred the breeze. As Night's dim curtain now is drawn. Till not a zephyr fanned the trees ; My object here. So wildly sweet. Bards of the West ! is to inspire So still, so awful, so profound. Your zeal to wake the slumbering lyre, The breathless solitude around. And reach, on classic wings, a higher That e'en distinctly seemed to sound And nobler sphere. The pulse's beat.
- * * • « «
