AN ADDRESS TO THE VOTARIES OF POESY.
By James De-La-Cour.
(Continued.)
But if a storm must rattle thro’ the strain,
Then let your lines grow black with gath’ring rain;
Thro’ Jove’s ærial hall loud thunders sound,
And the big bolt rear thro’ the dark profound:
But shou’d the welkin brighten to the view,
The sun breaks out and gilds the style anew:
Colour your clouds with a vermillion dye,
And let warm blushes streak the western sky;
’Till evening struts in sober suited grey,
And draws her dappled curtains o’er the day.
Let Vesper then pursue the purple light,
And lead the twinkling glories of the night;
The moon must rise in silver o’er the shades,
Stream thro’ your pen, and glance along the meads;
While Zephyr softly whispers in the lines,
And pearly dew in bright description shines;
The little warblers to the trees repair,
Sing in their sleep, and dream away their care;
While closing flowrets nod their painted heads,
And fold themselves to rest upon their rosy beds.
But if Aurora’s fingers stain the lay,
Let fancy waken with the rising day;
Let Sol’s fierce coursers whirl the fiery team,
And from their nostrils blow a flood of flame:
Be sultry noon in brighter yellow drest,
And bend a rain-bow on her burning breast,
Let the rich dyes in changing colours flow,
And lose themselves in one poetic glow.
So the fair Indian crown its gloss assumes,
Dispos’d in tufts of party-colour’d plumes;
The transient tincture drinks the neighb’ring hue,
As if from each th’ alternate colours grew,
Where ev’ry beauty’s by a former made,
And lends a lustre to the following shade.
Thus may a simile bright come in with grace,
And add new splendours to the show’ry piece;
Paint the proud arch so lively to the sight,
That ev’ry line reflects a wat’ry light.