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Gods, how oft the traitress dear
No, neither doth she fear.
TWIN’ST THOU WITH LOFTY WREATH THY
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY.
Twin'st thou with lofty wreath thy brow?
Such glory then thy beauty sheds,
'Tis Rhea's self before me treads.
Dost thou thy loosen'd ringlets leave,
Like sunny waves to wander free?
As draws my inmost soul from me.
locks elude the sight,
Κεκρυφαλοι σφιγγουσι τεην τριχα; ;
Ap. BRUNCK. xxxiv.
Oh, not ev'n then their glory fails
To haunt me with its unseen light.
For, thee the Graces still attend,
Presiding o’er each new attire,
Some new, peculiar touch of fire.
WHEN THE SAD WORU.
BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY.
WHEN the sad word, " Adieu," from my lip is nigh
falling, And with it, Hope passes away, Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fon 1 heart
recalling That fatal farewell, bids me stay. For oh ! 't is a penance so weary
One hour from thy presence to be, That death to this soul were less dreary,
Less dark than long absence from thee.
• Σωζεο σοι μελλων ενεπειν.
Ap. BRUNCK. xxxix
Thy beauty, like Day, o'er the dull world breaking,
Brings life to the heart it shines o'er, And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking,
Made light what was darkness before. But mute is the Day's sunny glory,
While thine hath a voice,* on whose breath, More sweet than the Syren's sweet story,t
My hopes hang, through life and through death!
MY MOPSA IS LITTLE.
My Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown,
And, for blushing, no rose can come near her; In short, she has woven such nets round my heart, That I ne'er from my dear little Mopsa can part, –
Unless I can find one that's dearer.
Her voice hath a music that dwells on the ear,
from its orb gives a daylight so clear, That I'm dazzled whenever I meet her;
• Ηματι γαρ σεο φεγγος ομοιιον. αλλα το μεν που
Συ δ' εμοι και το λαλημα φερεις
Ap. BRUNCK. X.
Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid's own net,
Till I light upon lips that are sweeter.
But 't is not her beauty that charms me alone, 'Tis her mind, 'tis that language whose eloquent tone
From the depths of the grave could revive one: In short, here I swear, that if death were her doom I would instantly join my dead love in the tomb
Unless I could meet with a live one.
STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALLING.*
STILL, like dew in silence falling,
Drops for thee the nightly tear;
Day and night the spell hangs o'er me,
Here for ever fix'd thou art:
συνει μεν εν ουασιν ηχος Ερωτος. .
Ap. BRUNCK. liü.
Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness,
Dooms me to this lasting pain,
UP, SAILOR BOY, "TIS DAY.
UP, sailor boy, 't is day!
The west wind blowing,
The spring tide flowing, Summon thee hence away. Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? Chirp, chirp, — in every note he seem'd to say 'Tis Spring, 't is Spring. Up boy, away, Who'd stay on land to-day ?
The very flowers
Would from their bowers Delight to wing away!
Leave languid youths to pine
On silken pillows;
But be the billows Of the great deep thine.
Ω πτανοι, μη και ποτ' εφι πτασθαι μεν, Ερωτες,
Οιδατ', αποπτηναι δ' υδ όσον ισχυετε.