And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth I' the midst of roses.
SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER.
This hand would lead thee, listen! A deep DO confess, in many a sigh,
My lips have breathed you many a lie; And who, with such delights in view, Would lose them for a lie or two?
Nay! Look not thus, with brow reproving; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think and do, Were aught but lying's bright illusion, This world would be in strange confusion. If ladies' eyes were every one, As lovers swear, a radiant sun,
Astronomy must leave the skies To learn her lore in ladies' eyes. Oh no! believe me, lovely girl, When Nature turns your teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow, your eyes to fire, Your amber locks to golden wire, Then-only then-can Heaven decree That should live for only me,
Or I for you, as, night and morn, We've swearing kissed, and kissing sworn.
And now, my gentle hints to clear, For once I'll tell you truth, my dear : Whenever you may chance to meet Some loving youth whose love is sweet, Long as you're false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you, So long the blissful bond endures, And while he lies his heart is yours; But oh you've wholly lost the youth. The instant that he tells you truth.
AIL, Source of being! Uni- When first the soul of Love is sent abroad Warm through the vital air, and on the
Of heaven and earth, essential Presence, hail!
Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin To thee I bend the knee, to In gallant thought to plume
Hast the great whole into
Continual climb, who with a | And try again the long-forgotten strain At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows The soft infusion prevalent and wide Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows In music unconfined. Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of Morn;
By thee the various vegetative tribes, Wrapped in a filmy net and clad with leaves, Draw the live ether and imbibe the dew; By thee disposed into congenial soils Stands each attractive plant, and sucks and swells
The juicy tide, a twining mass of tubes; At thy command the vernal sun awakes The torpid sap, detruded to the root By wintry winds, that, now in fluent dance. And lively fermentation mounting, spreads All this innumerous-colored scene of things.
As rising from the vegetable world
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, My panting Muse; and hark! how loud the woods
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim! Lend me your song, ye nightingales! Oh, pour The mazy-running soul of melody Into my varied verse while I deduce From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings The symphony of spring, and touch a theme Unknown to fame-The Passion of the Groves.
Of new-sprung leaves their modulations mix | Others apart far in the Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert; while the stock-dove breathes
Or roughening waste their humble texture
A melancholy murmur through the whole.
'Tis love creates their melody, and all This waste of music is the voice of Love, That even to birds and beasts the tender
Of pleasing teaches; hence the glossy kind Try every winning way inventive Love Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates Pour forth their little souls. First wide around
With distant awe in airy rings they rove, Endeavoring by a thousand tricks to catch The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance Of their regardless charmer. Should she
Softening the least approvance to bestow, Their colors burnish, and, by hope inspired, They brisk advance; then, on a sudden struck,
Retire disordered; then again approach, In fond rotation spread the spotted wing And shiver every feather with desire.
Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods They haste away, all as their fancy leads, Pleasure or food or secret safety prompts, That Nature's great command may be obeyed, Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive Indulged in vain. Some to the holly-hedge, Nestling, repair, and to the thicket some; Some to the rude protection of the thorn Commit their feeble offspring; the cleft tree Offers its kind concealment to a few,
But most in woodland solitudes delight, In unfrequented glooms or shaggy banks, Steep, and divided by a babbling brook Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day
When by kind duty fixed. Among the roots Of hazel pendent o'er the plaintive stream They frame the first foundation of their domes-
Dry sprigs of trees in artful fabric laid And bound with clay together. Now 'tis naught
But restless hurry through the busy air, Beat by unnumbered wings. The swallow
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house Intent, and often from the careless back Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills Pluck hair and wool, and oft, when unob- served,
Steal from the barn a straw, till soft and
Clean and complete, their habitation grows.
As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task Or by sharp hunger or by smooth delight, Though the whole loosened spring around.
Her sympathizing lover takes his stand High on the opponent bank and ceaseless sings
The tedious time away, or else supplies Her place a moment while she sudden flits To pick the scanty meal. The appointed
Their food its insects and its moss their nests; With pious toil fulfilled, the callow young,
Warmed and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondage break and come to light A helpless family demanding food
Be not the Muse ashamed here to bemoan Her brothers of the grove by tyrant man Inhuman caught and in the narrow cage
With constant clamor. Oh what passions From liberty confined, and boundless air. then,
What melting sentiments of kindly care, On the new parents seize! Away they fly, Affectionate, and, undesiring, bear The most delicious morsel to their young; Which equally distributed, again
The search begins. Even so a gentle pair
By fortune sunk, but formed of generous mould
Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, Ragged and all its brightening lustre lost; Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes Which clear and vigorous warbles from the beech.
Oh, then, ye friends of love and love-taught
Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear,
And charmed with cares beyond the vulgar If on your bosom Innocence can win,
engage or Piety dissuade.
SONG OF EARTH AND AIR.
TOW bountiful, how wonderful,
HOW bountiful,
Thou art, sweet air!
And yet, albeit thine odors lie On every gust that mocks the eye, We pass thy gentle blessings by
How bountiful, how wonderful,
Thou art, sweet earth, Thy seasons changing with the sun, Thy beauty out of darkness won!
Of wandering swain the white-winged plover And yet whose tongue, when all is done,
Her sounding flight, and then directly on In long excursions skims the level lawn,
To tempt him from her nest. The wild
The poet's! He alone doth still Uphold all worth.
Then love the poet-love his themes,
O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless His thoughts, half hid in golden dreams,
And later joys, like autumn flowers, Have bloomed for us once more; But never canst thou be again What once thou wert to me: I glory in another's chain, And thou'rt no longer free.
Thy stream of life glides calmly on, A prosperous lot is thine- The brighter that it did not join
The turbid waves of mine; Yet oh, could fondest love relume
Joy's sunshine on my brow, Thine scarce can be a happier doom Than I might boast of now.
No weakling girl who would surrender will And life and reason, with her loving heart, To her possessor; no soft, clinging thing Who would find breath alone within the arms Of a strong master and obediently Wait on his whims in slavish carefulness No fawning, cringing spaniel to attend His royal pleasure and account herself Rewarded by his pats and pretty words; But a sound woman who with insight keen Had wrought a scheme of life and measured well
Her womanhood; had spread before her feet A fine philosophy to guide her steps;
Had won a faith to which her life was brought In strict adjustment, brain and heart mean
Working in conscious harmony and rhythm With the great scheme of God's great universe On toward her being's end.
« ForrigeFortsæt » |