Зображення сторінки

Tearful and saddening with the saddened blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful

gaze : Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.



S late each flower that sweetest blows

I plucked, the Garden's pride!
Within the petals of a rose

A sleeping Love I spied.
Around his brows a beamy wreath

Of many a lucent hue;
All purple glowed his cheek, beneath,

Inebriate with dew.

I softly seized the unguarded Power,

Nor scared his balmy rest :
And placed him, caged within the flower,

On spotless Sara's breast.
But when unweeting of the guile

Awoke the prisoner sweet,
He struggled to escape awhile,

And stamped his faery feet.
Ah! soon the soul-entrancing sight

Subdued the impatient boy!
He gazed ! he thrilled with deep delight !

Then clapped his wings for joy.
“ And O!” he cried—“of magic kind

What charms this Throne endear!
Some other Love let Venus find-

I'll fix my empire here."


NE kiss, dear maid, I said, and sigh'd-

Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss ?
Can danger lurk within a kiss ?
Yon viewless Wanderer of the vale,
The Spirit of the Western Gale,
At Morning's break, at Evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the Rose,
And hovers o'er the uninjured Bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the Zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing Kisses fling;
And He the glitter of the Dew
Scatters on the Rose's hue,
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper Red !

Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the opening Rose;
O fair ! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of Love.
In tender accents ; faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered “No !"
The whisper'd “No!”-how little meant !
Sweet Falsehood that endears Consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feign'd dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of Joy.

CUPID, if storying Legends tell aright,

Once framed a rich Elixir of Delight,
A Chalice o'er love-kindled flames he fix'd,
And in it nectar and ambrosia mix'd:
With these the magic dews, which Evening brings,
Brush'd from the Idalian Star by faery wings:
Each tender pledge of sacred Faith he joined,
Each gentler pleasure of th' unspotted mind-
Day-dreams, whose tints with sportive brightness

And Hope, the blameless Parasite of Woe.
The eyeless Chemist heard the process rise,
The stearoy Chalice bubbled


in sighrs; Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' enamored

Dove Pours the soft murm’ring of responsive love. The finished work might Envy vainly blame, And “ Kisses was the precious compound's name ; With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest, And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SISTER of love-lorn poets, Philomel !

How many bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of watchmen, Those hoarse, unfeathered nightingales of time ! How many wretched bards address thy name, And her's, the full-orb’d queen, that shines above,


HE tear which mourned a brother's fate scarce

Pain after pain, and woe succeeding woe-

heart destined for another blow ? O my sweet sister! and must thou too die ? Ah! how has Disappointment poured the tear O’er infant Hope destroyed by early frost ! How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear! Scarce had I loved you, ere I mourned you lost; Say, is this hollow eye—this artless pain Fated to rove through Life's wide cheerless plainNor father, brother, sister meets its kenMy woes, my joys unshared! Ah ! long ere then On me, thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved ;Better to die, than live and not be loved !



I TOO a sister had! too cruel death!
How sad remembrance bids


bosom heavc! Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath ; Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve. Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, And Wit to venom’d Malice oft assigned, Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest. Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge the dart ; Nor on my soul her love to me impress !

For oh I mourn in anguish—and my heart
Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress.
Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease,
For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace!

PAIN. ONCE could the Morn's first beams, the healthful

breeze, All nature charm, and gay was every hour :But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of pain seem waving through each limb— Ah, what can all Life's gilded scenes avail ? I view the crowd, whom youth and health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, Then sigh and think—I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chased away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbbed anguish through the



O THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more
Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds

Nor there with happy spirits speed thy flight
Bathed in rich amber-glowing floods of light;
Nor in yon gleam, where slow descends the day,
With western peasants hail the morning ray !

« НазадПродовжити »