To the RAINBOW,

Loveliest of the meteor-train,
Girdle of the summer-rain,
Tinger of the dews of air,
Glowing vision fleet as fair,
While the evening shower retires
Kindle thy unhurting fires,
And among the meadows near
Thy refulgent pillar rear;
Or amid the dark-blue cloud
High thine orbed glories shroud,
Or the moistened hills between
Bent in mighty arch be seen,
Thro' whose sparkling portals wide
Fiends of storm and darkness ride..

Like Chearfulness thou art wont to gazeAlways on the brightest blaze,

Canst from setting suns deduce

Varied gleams and sprightly hues;
And on louring gloom imprint
Smiling streaks of gayest tint.

R. O

TO TWILIGHT.

Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail!, I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds

Athwart the crimson throne

Of the departing sun.

For then what various objects, dimly seen,

By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire
An awe-inspiring air,

And urge Fear's hurried step.

Lo! thine attendant, the low-sailing bat
Flaps his brown wing, begins his circling flight;
E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,

To hail thee, pours her strain.

I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars

Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that

Worn by thy sister Night,

Save when she reigns in storms.

Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dewy Eve,

Thine is a veil of grey,

Meet for the cloister'd maid.

Thou purse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay, Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace, Night's fire-embroider'd vest,

Alike displease my eye;

For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,
Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.

For oh! to me futurity appears

Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,

Nor seems one tint or star

To deck her furrow'd brow,

But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,
Force their uneasy way,

And pale my cold, sunk cheek.

But see

-the unwelcome moon unveils her head,

(Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams) Distinctness spreads around,

And mimic day appears.

I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;
And envy-struck, I shun

The scene I cannot share.

I'll to my couch, yet not alas to rest ;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,
And e'en from pity hide

My dim and sleepless eyes.

AMELIA OPIE. 1792.

LINES

WRITTEN IN THE 16th CENTURY.

For aye be hynce ye vayne delyghts
So short as seeme the guiltie nyghtes
Yatte men forweare inne folie!
This lowlie world hath nothyng swote
Hadde mortals onlie wytte to know yt
But halie melancholie.

Then welcome armes yatte folded lye, From heavie breste the long-drawn sye,

The purses of the browe,

The loke yrooted to the growne,

The tong ychaynde withouten sowne,
Unguided steps and slowę.