148 II EXE Y KIKKE WHITE S POEilS. 



Press ye still the downy bed, 



While fev'rish dreams surround your head ; 



I will seek the woodland glade, 



Penetrate the thickest shade. 



Wrapt in contemplation's dreams, 



Musing high on holy themes, 



While on the gale 



Shall softly sail 

 The nightingale's enchanting tune, 



And oft ray eyes 



Shall grateful rise 

 To tiiee, the modest Harvest Moon ! 



ODE. 



Addressed to II. FuscU, Esq., R.A., on seeing Engravings from 

 his desig')is. 



Mighty Magician ! who on Torneo's brow, 



When sullen tempests wrap the throne of night, 

 Art wont to sit and catch the gleam of light 



That shoots athwart the gloom opaque below ; 



And listen to the distant death-shriek long 



From lonely mariner foundering in the deep, 

 Which rises slowly up the rocky steep, 



While the weird sisters weave the horrid song : 

 Or when along the liquid sky 

 Serenely chant the orbs on high, 

 Dost love to sit in musing trance 

 And mark the northern meteor's dance, 

 (While far below the fitful oar 

 Flings its faint pauses on the steepy shore,) 

 And list the music of the breeze, 

 That sweeps by fits the bending seas ; 

 And often bears with sudden swell 

 The shipwrecked sailor's funeral knell, 

 By the spirits sung who keep 

 Their night watch on the treacherous deep, 



