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[Transcriber's Note: Footnotes have been numbered and moved to the end.]



The Sylphs of the Seasons with Other Poems.

By

W. Allston.




Contents.



The Sylphs of the Seasons; a Poet's Dream
The Two Pointers; a Tale
Eccentricity
The Paint King
Myrtilla: addressed to a Lady, who lamented that she had never been in love
To a Lady who spoke slightingly of Poets
Sonnet on a Falling Group in the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, in the
  Cappella Sistina
Sonnet on the Group of the Three Angels before the Tent of Abraham, by
  Raffaelle, in the Vatican
Sonnet, on seeing the Picture of AEolus, by Peligrino Tibaldi, in the
  Institute at Bologna
Sonnet on Rembrant; occasioned by his Picture of Jacob's Dream
Sonnet on the Luxembourg Gallery
Sonnet to my venerable Friend, the President of the Royal Academy
The Mad Lover at the Grave of his Mistress
First Love: a Ballad
The Complaint
Will, the Maniac: a Ballad




The Sylphs of the Seasons;

_A Poet's Dream._




Prefatory Note to The Sylphs of the Seasons.



As it may be objected to the following Poem, that some of the images there
introduced are not wholly peculiar to the Season described, the Author
begs leave to state, that, both in their selection and disposition, he was
guided by that, which, in his limited experience, was found to be the
Season of their greatest impression: and, though he has not always felt
the necessity of pointing out the collateral causes by which the effect
was increased, he yet flatters himself that, in general, they are
sufficiently implied either by what follows or precedes them. Thus, for
instance, the _running brook_, though by no means peculiar, is
appropriated to Spring; as affording by its motion and _seeming_
exultation one of the most lively images of that spirit of renovation
which animates the earth after its temporary suspension during the Winter.
By the same rule, is assigned to Summer the _placid lake_, &c. not because
that image is never seen, or enjoyed, at any other season; but on account
of its affecting us more in Summer, than either in the Spring, or in
Autumn; the indolence and languor generally then experienced disposing us
to dwell with particular delight on such an object of repose, not to
mention the grateful idea of coolness derived from a knowledge of its
temperature. Thus also the _evening cloud_, exhibiting a fleeting
representation of successive objects, is, perhaps, justly appropriated to
Autumn, as in that Season the general decay of inanimate nature leads the
mind to turn upon itself, and without effort to apply almost every image
of sense or vision of the imagination,* to its own transitory state.

If the above be admitted, it is needless to add more; if it be not, it
would be useless.




The Sylphs of the Seasons.



Long has it been my fate to hear
The slave of Mammon, with a sneer,
  My indolence reprove.
Ah, little knows he of the care,
The toil, the hardship that I bear,
While lolling in my elbow-chair,
  And seeming scarce to move:

For, mounted on the Poet's steed,
I _there_ my ceaseless journey speed
  O'er mountain, wood, and stream:
And oft within a little day
'Mid comets fierce 'tis mine to stray,
And wander o'er the Milky-way
  To catch a Poet's dream.

But would the Man of Lucre know
What riches from my labours flow?--
  A DREAM is my reply.
And who for wealth has ever pin'd,
That had a World within his mind,
Where every treasure he may find,
  And joys that never die!

One night, my task diurnal done,
(For I had travell'd with the Sun
  O'er burning sands, o'er snows)
Fatigued, I sought the couch of rest;
My wonted pray'r to Heaven address'd;
But scarce had I my pillow press'd
  When thus a vision rose.

Methought within a desert cave,
Cold, dark, and solemn as the grave,
 I suddenly awoke.
It seem'd of sable Night the cell,
Where, save when from the ceiling fell
An oozing drop, her silent spell
 No sound had ever broke.

There motionless I stood alone,
Like some strange