--The Grotto, has, however, crumbled to the dilapidations of time, and
the pious thefts of visiters; but, proud are we to reflect that the
poetry of the great genius who dictated its erection--LIVES; and his
fame is untarnished by the canting reproach of the critics of our time.
True it is that the best, or ripest fruit, is always most pecked at.
* * * * *
FAIRY SONG.
(_For the Mirror._)
Slowly o'er the mountain's brow
Rosy light is dawning;
See! the stars are fading now
In the beam of morning.
Yonder soft approaching ray
Bids us, Fairies, haste away.
Fairy guardians, watching o'er
Flowers of tender blossom,
Chilling damps descend no more,
And the flow'ret's bosom,
Opening to th' approaching day,
Bids ye, Fairies, haste away.
Hark! the lonely bird of night
Stays its notes of sadness;
Early birds, that hail the light,
Soon shall wake to gladness.
Philomel's concluding lay
Bids us follow night away.
Ye that guard the infant's rest,
Or watch the maiden's pillow;--
Demons seek their home unblest
'Neath Ocean's deepest billow:
Harmless now the dreams that play
O'er slumbering eyes, then haste away.
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