MONDEGO, thou whose waters cold and clear
Gird those green banks, where Fancy fain would stray,
Fondly to muse on that departed day
When Hope was kind, and Friendship seemed sincere;
—Ere I had purchased knowledge with a tear.
-Mondego, though I bend my pilgrim way
To other shores, where other fountains stray,
And other rivers roll their proud career,
Still, nor shall time, nor grief, nor stars severe,
Nor widening distance, e'er prevail in aught
To make thee less to this sad bosom dear;
And Memory oft, by old Affection taught,
Shall lightly speed upon the plumes of thought,
To bathe amongst thy waters cold and clear.
COME, tell me, fairest, from what orient mine,
Where undiscovered lurk the springs of day,
Did thy triumphant tresses steal away
Their sunny tinges, and their hues divine?
What magic makes thine eye so sweetly shine,
Like the clear breaking of a summer's day?
And when did Ocean's rifled caves resign
The pearly wealth thy parted lips betray,
When they are severed by seducing smiles?
-Yet hear me, fairest, since with barbarous care,
Such store of blandishment and dangerous wiles
To thee thy star's propitious genius gave,―
Warned by the self-adorer's fate, beware,
Nor gaze on yonder fount's reflecting wave.
WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF HIS EARLIEST FRIEND, DON ANTONIO DE NORONHA, WHO WAS SLAIN IN BATTLE.
DEAR lost Antonio!—whilst I yet deplore
My bosom's friend—and mourn the withering blow,
Which laid, in manly flow'r, the warrior low,
Whose valour shamed the glorious deeds of yore;
E'en while mine eyes their humid tribute pour,
My spirit feels a sad delight, to know
That thou hast but resigned a world of woe
For one, where pains and griefs shall wound no more ;
Though torn, alas! from this sublunar sphere,
For ever torn, by War's ungentle hand,
Still, were the Muse but as Affection strong, My dead Antonio should revive in song, And, graced by Poetry's "melodious tear," Live, in the memory of a grateful land!
SILENT and cool, now fresh'ning breezes blow
Where groves of chesnut crown yon shadowy steep;
And all around the tears of Evening weep
For closing day, whose vast orb, westering slow,
Flings o'er the embattled clouds a mellower glow,
While hum of folded herds, and murmuring deep,
And falling rills, such gentle cadence keep,
As e'en might soothe the weary heart of woe;
Yet what to me is eve, what evening airs,
Or falling rills, or ocean's murmuring sound,
While sad and comfortless I seek in vain
Her who in absence turns my joy to cares,
And as I cast my listless glances round,
Makes varied scenery but varied pain!
O LOPEZ!-yesterday the stars were kind,
And on my lowly state so fairly smiled,
That even thou, though Fortune's favoured child,
For mine, would gladly have thy lot resigned.
Her form I saw, who chains thy prisoned mind;
Her voice I heard, which musically mild,
While like a spell it every sense beguiled,
E'en lulled to peace the rude and restless wind!
-Lopez! that voice such rare persuasion armed,
That, in a word, our hearts it better charmed
Than others could in thrice a thousand more:
How have I since 'gainst Fortune raved and Love, 'Cause that blind boy compels us thus to adore
Her, whom high fortune rears our hopes above!
ON THE DEATH OF DONNA CATERINA DE ATAIDE.
THOSE charming eyes, within whose starry sphere
Love whilom sat, and smiled the hours away;
Those braids of light that shamed the beams of day,
That hand benignant, and that heart sincere ;
Those virgin cheeks, which did so late appear
Like snowbanks scattered with the blooms of May, Turned to a little cold and worthless clay, Are gone for ever gone-and perish here,
-But not unbathed by Memory's warmest tear! -Death! thou hast torn, in one unpitying hour, That fragrant plant, to which, while scarce a flower, The mellower fruitage of its prime was given; Love saw the deed—and as he lingered near, Sighed o'er the ruin, and returned to Heaven!
SACRED AND ECCLESIASTICAL.
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