No, no-on earth there's only one
Could bind such faithless folly fast:
And sure on earth 'tis I alone
Could make such virtue false at last!
Nea! the heart which she forsook,
For thee were but a worthless shrineGo, lovely girl, that angel look
Must thrill a soul more pure than mine.
Oh! thou shalt be all else to me
That heart can feel or tongue can feign;
I'll praise, admire, and worship thee,
But must not, dare not love again.
You read it in my languid eyes,
And there alone should love be read;
You hear me say it all in sighs,
And thus alone should love be said.
Then dread no more; I will not speak;
Although my heart to anguish thrill,
I'll spare the burning of your cheek,
And look it all in silence still!
Divinely through the graceful dance,
You seem'd to float in silent song,
Bending to earth that beamy glance,
As if to light your steps along!
Oh! how could others dare to touch
That hallow'd form with hand so free,
When but to look was bliss too much,
Too rare for all but heaven and me!
With smiling eyes, that little thought
How fatal were the beams they threw, My trembling hands you lightly caught, And round me like a spirit, flew.
Heedless of all, I wildly turn'd,
My soul forgot-nor, oh! condemn, That when such eyes before me burn'd, My soul forgot all eyes but them!
That moment did the mingled eyes
Of heaven and earth my madness view, I should have seen, through earth and skies, But vou alone-but only you!
A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.
I JUST had turn'd the classic page,
And traced that happy period over,
When love could warm the proudest sage,
And wisdom grace the tenderest lover!
Before I laid me down to sleep,
Upon the bank a while I stood,
And saw the vestal planet weep
Her tears of light on Ariel's flood.
My heart was full of fancy's dream,
And as I watch'd the playful stream,
Entangling in its net of smiles
So fair a group of elfin isles,
I felt as if the scenery there
Were lighted by a Grecian sky-
As if I breathed the blissful air
That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh!
And now the downy hand of rest
Her signet on my eyes imprest,
And still the bright and balmy spell,
Like star-dew, o'er my fancy fell!
I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd
Through that serene, luxurious shade
Where Epicurus taught the Loves
To polish Virtue's native brightness,
Just as the beak of playful doves
Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness.*
'Twas one of those delicious nights
So common in the climes of Greece,
When day withdraws but half its lights,
And all is moonshine, balm, and peace!
And thou wert there, my own beloved!
And dearly by thy side I roved
Through many a temple's reverent gloom,
And many a bower's enticing bloom,
Where beauty learn'd and wisdom taught,
Where lovers sigh'd and sages thought,
*This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them a while to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Cardanus, De Rerum Varietat, lib. vii., cap. 34.
Where hearts might feel or heads discern,
And all was form'd to soothe or move,
To make the dullest love to learn,
To make the coldest learn to love!
And now the fairy pathway seem'd
To lead us through enchanted ground Where all that bard has ever dream'd
Of love or luxury bloom'd around!
Oh! 'twas a bright, bewildering scene
Along the alley's deepening green
Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers,
And scented and illumed the bowers,
Seem'd as to him, who darkling roves
Amid the lone Hercynian groves,
Appear the countless birds of light,
That sparkle in the leaves at night,
And from their wings diffuse a ray
Along the weary traveller's way
'Twas light of that mysterious kind
Through which the soul is doom'd to roam
When it has left this world behind,
And gone to seek its heavenly home!
And, Nea, thou didst look and move,
Like any blooming soul of bliss,
That wanders to its home above
Through mild and shadowy light like this!
But now, methought, we stole along
Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Than ever lived in Teian song,
Or wanton'd in Milesian story!
And nymphs were there, whose very eyes
Seem'd almost to exhale in sighs;
Whose every little ringlet thrill'd
As if with soul and passion fill'd;
Some flew with amber cups around,
Shedding the flowery wines of Crete,
And as they pass'd with youthful bound,
The onyx shone beneath their feet:
While others, waving arms of snow
Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold,
With fairy form, as loath to shew,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold,
Glided along the festal ring
With vases, all respiring spring,
Where roses lay, in languor breathing,
And the young bee-grape round them wreathing,
Hung on their blushes warm and meek,
Like curls upon a rosy cheek!
O Nea! why did morning break
The spell that so divinely bound me?
Why did I wake? how could I wake
With thee my own, and heaven around me!
WELL, peace to thy heart, though another's it be,
And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me!
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,
Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves,
And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps, I may yet
Its allurement forgive and its splendour forget!
Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume;
May spring to eternity hallow the shade,
Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray'd!
And thou-when, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy home,
Where oft, when the dance and the revel were done,
And the stars were beginning to fade in the sun,
I have led thee along, and have told by the way
What my heart all the night had been burning to say---
Oh! think of the past--give a sigh to those times,
And a blessing for me to that alley of limes!
If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
I would not let a foot come near
My land of bliss, my fairy ground!
If I were yonder conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it placed,
I would not let an eye behold
The sacred gem my arms embraced!
If I were yonder orange-tree,
And thou the blossom blooming there,
I would not yield a breath of thee,
To scent the most imploring air!
Oh! bend not o'er the waters brink,
Give not the wave that rosy sigh,
Nor let its burning mirror drink
The soft reflection of thine eye.
That glossy hair, that glowing cheek,
Upon the billows pour their beam
So warmly, that my soul could seek
Its Nea in the painted stream.
Behold the leafy mangrove, bending
O'er the waters blue and bright,
Like Nea's silky lashes, lending
Shadow to her eyes of light!
O my beloved! where'er I turn,
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes,
In every star thy glances burn,
Thy blush on every floweret lies.
I pray thee, on those lips of thine
To wear this rosy leaf for me,
And breathe of something not divine,
Since nothing human breathes of thee!
All other charms of thine I meet
In nature, but thy sigh alone;
Then take, oh! take, though not so sweet, The breath of roses for thine own!
So, while I walk the flowery grove,
The bud that gives, through morning dew
The luster of the lips I love.
May seem to give their perfume too!
No, ne'er did the wave in its element steep An island of lovelier charms;
It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, Like Hebe in Hercules' arms!
The tint of your bowers is balm to the eye, Their melody balm to the ear;
But the fiery planet of day is too nigh,
And the Snow-Spirit never comes here!
|