LADY! it cannot be but that thine eyes
Must be my sun, such radiance they display. And strike me ev'n as Phoebus him, whose way Through horrid Lybia's sandy desert lies. Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they, New as to me they are, I cannot say,
But deem them, in the lover's language-sighs.
Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals,
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend
To soften time, thy coldness soon congeals.
While others to my tearful eyes ascend,
Whence my sad nights in show'rs are ever drown'd,
Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound.
ENAMOUR'D, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound,
Good, and addicted to conceptions high;
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,
From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse,
As fond of genius, and fixt fortitude,
Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse.
Weak you will find it in one only part,
Now pierc'd by Love's immedicable dart.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUION.
Tis folly all-let me no more be told
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold;
Delighted views of Nature, dress'd by Art,
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart;
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth,
Makes mean the proud magnificence of Earth:
The straw, the manger, and the mould'ring wall,
Eclipse its lustre; and I scorn it all.
Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales,
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails;
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise,
Earth-born, and yet ambitious of the skies;
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades,
Vainly the sun, in all its pow'r, invades ;
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound,
Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around
Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep,
And torrents raving down the rugged steep,
Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer;
Meads crown'd with flow'rs; streams musical and clear,
Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join
Their artless charms, to make the scene divine;
The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain,
That seems a rolling sea of golden grain:
All, all have lost the charms they once possess'd;
An infant God reigns sov'reign in my breast;
From Bethl'hem's bosom I no more will rove;
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love.
Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force,
Urge down the valleys your impetuous course! [heads,
Winds, clouds, and lightnings! and ye waves, whose
Curl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads!
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails,
Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails;
On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides,
While havoc floats on all thy swelling tides,
Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around
With vessels bulg'd, and bodies of the drown'd!
Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves,
And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves;
Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size
Whom all th' acquatic world with terror eyes!
Had I but faith immovable and true,
I might defy the fiercest storm, like you;
The world, a more disturb'd and boist'rous sea,
When Jesus shews a smile, affrights not me;
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar,
Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore.
Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of night, Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light! Thou Moon, whose car, encompassing the skies, Restores lost Nature to our wond'ring eyes;
Again retiring, when the brighter Sun
Begins the course he seems in haste to run!
Behold him where he shines! His rapid rays,
Themselves unmeasur'd, measure all our days;
Nothing impedes the race he would pursue,
Nothing escapes his penetrating view,
A thousand lands confess his quick'ning heat,
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet.
Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose,
I feel the thorn, alas! but miss the rose;
Too well I know this aching heart requires
More solid good to fill its vast desires;
In vain they represent his matchless might,
Who call'd them out of deep primæval night;
Their form and beauty but augment my woe:
I seek the giver of those charms and shew:
Nor, Him beside, throughout the world he made,
Lives there in vho I trust for cure or aid.
alone, can learn.
of your Lord!
ets afford!
lling year;
Earth, revere!
ther bring
your King!
ith and love;
world above;
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