Through sunny hair. Add too, the sweetness Of thy honied voice; the neatness Of thine ankle lightly turn'd: With those beauties scarce discern'd, Kept with such sweet privacy, Of the little Loves that fly Round about with eager pry. Saving when with freshening lave, Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave; Like twin water-lilies born In the coolness of the morn. O, if thou hadst breathed then, Now the Muses had been ten. At least for ever, evermore Will I call the Graces four. Lifted up her lance on high, Tell me what thou wouldst have been? Ah! I see the silver sheen Of the broider'd-floating vest Cov'ring half thine ivory breast: Which, O Heavens! I should see, But that cruel Destiny Has placed a golden cuirass there, Keeping secret what is fair. Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested, Thy locks in knightly casque are rested: O'er which bend four milky plumes Comes thine alabaster steed; O'er his loins, his trappings glow Alas! thou this wilt never do : Thou art an enchantress too, And wilt surely never spill Blood of those whose eyes can kill. TO HOPE. WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night! Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, O let me think it is not quite in vain To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. In the long vista of the years to roll, Let me not see our country's honour fade! O let me see our land retain her soul! Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shedBeneath thy pinions canopy my head! Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, But let me see thee stoop from Heaven on wings |