XIII. ON FAME. FAME, like a wayward girl, will still be coy Who have not learnt to be content without her; A Jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close, Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her; A very Gipsey is she, Nilus-born, Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar; Ye love-sick Bards! repay her scorn for scorn; 1819. XIV. ON FAME. "You cannot eat your cake and have it too."-Proverb. How fever'd is the man, who cannot look And robs his fair name of its maidenhood; It is as if the rose should pluck herself, Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom, As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf, Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom: But the rose leaves herself upon the briar, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed, And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire, Why then should man, teasing the world for grace, 1819. XV. WHY did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell : To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain. Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease, My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads; Yet would I on this very midnight cease, And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds; Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser-Death is Life's high meed. XVI. ON A DREAM. As Hermes once took to his feathers light, So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies, Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day, But to that second circle of sad Hell, Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell Their sorrows, pale were the sweet lips I saw, Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form I floated with, about that melancholy storm. 1819. XVII. IF by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd, Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness; To fit the naked foot of Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown ; So, if we may not let the Muse be free, She will be bound with garlands of her own. |