Thence lustre shines, that rivals SOL’s renown,

And pierces darkness with impressive force;—

His legs in purple, decked from Tyrian source;—

Wings, swifter than the winds, blue tints, unfold;—

And, o’er his back, the plumes adorned with gold.

To no conception he existence owes,

The father and the son at once he shows,

Alternately resuming youthful breath,

As oft as passing through the scene of death.

For when a thousand years has Summer run,—

As often Winter equal course begun,—

And Spring, the husbandman, brought shady store,

Which Autumn from the spreading branches tore,—

The Phenix then, oppressed by weight of years,

To sink at length beneath the load, appears.

SO, overpow’red by storms, the lofty pine

Inclines his top on Caucasus’ high chine;

A part, to winds’ incessant shock, gives way:

The rest to beating rains and time’s decay.

DIMINISHED now is seen this lustre bright;—

Old age’s languid chill pervades his sight.

Thus Cynthia, when the clouds obscure her face,

No longer shows, of dubious horns, the trace.

His wings, accustomed, ether, to explore,

Above the humid ground can scarcely soar.

Then, conscious that his age is near the end,

He preparation makes new life to lend,

Selects the dryest plants from temp’rate hills,

With fragrant leaves the pile Sabaean, fills,

A tomb composes for himself on earth,

Where, breath resigned, he takes his future birth.

Here sits the bird and, now more feeble grown,

Salutes the beaming Sun in flatt’ring tone,

Prayer mixes with the plaintive song he sings,

Desiring flame, that back, fresh vigour, brings.

When Phoebus sees him, as his chariot rolls,

He stops, and thus, the fav’rite bird, consoles:

“O PHENIX! ready on the pile of death,

“At once to render up thy aged breath,

“And, thus prepared at length to meet thy doom,

“Gain natal changes from fallacious tomb,

“Who, from destruction, art produced again,

“And, through departed life, dost bloom obtain;—

“Resume beginning:—worn out frame, forsake;—

“And, by mutation, form more active, take.”

THIS said, with moving head gold beams he darts,

And, vital splendour to the bird, imparts.

The Phenix willingly receives the fire:

Joy feels to die, and then anew respire;

The heap of perfumes burns with solar rays,

And ancient features perish ’mid the blaze.

Th’ astonished MOON restrains her bullocks’ course;

The HEAV’NS, dull wheels, no longer forward force;

All NATURE in solicitude appears;—

Lest lost th’ eternal bird, disclosing fears;—

Fans faithful flames that freely they may burn;—

Th’ immortal glory of the world, return.

AT length the scattered frame new vigour shows;

Through ev’ry vein, the blood repassing flows;

The ashes of themselves begin to move;

And, full of plumes, the shapeless embers prove.

Just what the father was, forth comes the son,

And now, of life, a fresh career’s begun.

Fire interposed, with momentary space,

Divides the line where doubly life we trace.

AN anxious wish at once his breast pervades,