MORNING, ON THE SEA-SHORE. Ann Radcliffe (née Ward) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Radcliffe, Ann Ward, 1764-1823. The Poems of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. London printed by and for J. Smith, Princes Street 1816 pp. 30-33. 118p. [Radcliffe's poems only, pp. 1-95]

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MORNING , ON THE SEA-SHORE . What print of fairy feet is here On Neptune's smooth and yellow sands ? What midnight revel's airy dance , Beneath the moon-beam's trembling glance Has blest these shores ? — What sprightly bands Have chac'd the waves uncheck'd by fear ? Whoe'er they were they fled from morn , For now , all silent and forlorn , These tide-forsaken sands appear — Return , sweet sprites ! the scene to cheer ! In vain the call ! — 'Till moonlight's hour Again diffuse its softer pow'r , Titania , nor her fairy loves , Emerge from India's spicy groves . Then , when the shad'wy hour returns , When silence reigns o'er air and earth , And ev'ry star in æther burns , They come to celebrate their mirth ; In frolic ring light trip the ground , Bid Music's voice on Silence win , 'Till magic echoes answer round — Thus do their festive rites begin . O fairy forms so coy to mortal ken , Your mystic steps to poets only shewn ; O ! lead me to the brook , or hollow'd glen , Retiring far , with winding woods o'ergrown ! Where'er ye best delight to rule ; If in some forest's lone retreat , Thither conduct my willing feet To the light brink of fountain cool , Where , sleeping in the midnight dew , Lie Spring's young buds of ev'ry hue , Yielding their sweet breath to the air ; To fold their silken leaves from harm , And their chill heads in moonshine warm , Is bright Titania's tender care . There , to the night-birds's plaintive chaunt Your carols sweet ye love to raise , With oaten reed and past'ral lays ; And guard with forceful spell her haunt , Who , when your antic sports are done , Oft lulls ye in the lily's cell , Sweet flow'r ! that suits your slumbers well , And shields ye from the rising sun . When not to India's steeps ye fly After twilight and the moon , In honey buds ye love to lie , While reigns supreme Light's fervid noon ; Nor quit the cell where peace pervades . 'Till night leads on the dews and shades . E'en now your scenes enchanted meet my sight ! I see the earth unclose , the palace rise , The high dome swell , and long arcades of light Glitter among the deep embow'ring woods , And glance reflecting from the trembling floods ! While to soft lutes the portals wide unfold , And fairy forms , of fine ætherial dyes , Advance with frolic step and laughing eyes , Their hair with pearl , their garments deck'd with gold ; Pearls that in Neptune's briny waves they sought , And gold from India's deepest caverns brought . Thus your light visions to my eyes unveil , Ye sportive pleasures , sweet illusion , hail ! But ah ! at morn's first blush again ye fade ! So from youth's ardent gaze life's landscape gay , And forms in Fancy's summer hues array'd , Dissolve at once in air at Truth's resplendent day !