May now and then a look engage, And steal a moment's thought for me. But, oh! in pity let not those Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, Let not the eye, that seldom flows With feeling tear, my song behold. For, trust me, they who never melt With pity, never melt with love; And they will frown at all I've felt, And all my loving lays reprove. But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, Which rather loves to praise than blame, Should in my page an interest find, And linger kindly on my name; Tell him,-or, oh! if gentler still, By female lips my name be blest : Ah! where do all affections thrill So sweetly as in woman's breast ?Tell her, that he whose loving themes Her eye indulgent wanders o'er, Could sometimes wake from idle dreams, And bolder flights of fancy soar; That glory oft would claim the lay, And friendship oft his numbers move; But whisper then, that, “sooth to say, His sweetest song was given to LOVE!" TO JULIA. WELL, Julia, if to love, and live 'Mid all the pleasures love can give, Be crimes that bring damnation; You-you and I have given such scope To loves and joys, we scarce can hope In heaven the least salvation ! Should be our own undoing; To bid me doat on ruin! Then wipe away that timid tear; Though you were whelm'd in sin; you in. INCONSTANCY. AND do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, When surely there's nothing in nature more com mon? She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves mer TO MRS. Around my sleeping mind, And paints thee melting kind, If joys from sleep I borrow, Sure thou'lt forgive me this ; For he who wakes to sorrow At least may dream of bliss ! Oh ! if thou art, in seeming, All that I've e'er required: Oh! if I feel, in dreaming, All that I've e'er desired; Wilt thou forgive my taking A kiss, or something more? What thou deny'st me waking, Oh! let me slumber o'er! But could I expect any more from a woman? Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treasure ; And Mahomet's doctrine was not too severe, When he thought you were only materials of pleasure, And reason and thinking were out of your sphere. By your heart, when the fond sighing lover can win it, He thinks that an age of anxiety's paid ; But, oh! while he's blest, let him die on the minute If he live but a day, he'll be surely betray'd. IMITATION OF CATULLUS." TO HIMSELF. Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire, etc. IN wedlock a species of lottery lies, Where in blanks and in prizes we deal ; But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, Should so long have remain’d in the wheel ? 1 Few poets knew better than Catullus, what a French writer calls la délicatesse D'un voluptueux sentiment; but his passions too often obscured his imagination - E No, no !-Yet, love, I will not chide, Although your heart were fond of roving: Nor that, nor all the world beside, Could keep your faithful boy from loving. You 'll soon be distant from his eye, And, with you, all that's worth possessing Oh! then it will be sweet to die, When life has lost its only blessing ! When lightly thou didst fly to meet SONG. SWEET seducer! blandly smiling; Charming still, and still beguiling! Oft I swore to love thee never, Yet I love thee more than ever! Why that little wanton blushing, Glancing eye, and bosom flushing? Flushing warm, and wily glancingAll is lovely, all entrancing ! Turn away those lips of blissesI am poison’d by thy kisses ! Yet, again, ah! turn them to me: Ruin's sweet, when they undo me! Oh! be less, be less enchanting ; Let some little grace be wanting ; Let my eyes, when I'm expiring, Gaze awhile without admiring ! NATURE'S LABELS. A FRAGMENT. TO JULIA Though Fate, my girl, may bid us part, Our souls it cannot, shall not, sever ; The heart will seek its kindred heart, And cling to it as close as ever. But must we, must we part indeed ? Is all our dream of rapture over ? And does not Julia's bosom bleed To leave so dear, so fond a lover? Does she too mourn ?-Perhaps she may; Perhaps she weeps our blisses fleeting : But why is Julia's eye so gay, If Julia's heart like mine is beating ? I oft have loved the brilliant glow Of rapture in her blue eye streaming, But can the bosom bleed with woe, While joy is in the glances beaming ? In vain we fondly strive to trace LABEL FIRST. Within this vase there lies enshrined The purest, brightest gem of mind' 1 I believe this epigram is originally French.-E. But your lip, love! is only St. Peter, And keeps but the key to your heaven! Though Feeling's hand may sometimes throw gem, when veil'd, Shall be but mellow'd, not conceal'd. Now, sirs, imagine, if you 're able, That Nature wrote a second label, They ’re her own words—at least suppose soAnd boldly pin it on Pomposo. LABEL SECOND. When I composed the fustian brain Of this redoubted Captain Vain, I had at hand but few ingredients, And so was forced to use expedients. I put therein some small discerning, A grain of sense, a grain of learning; And when I saw the void behind, I fill'd it up with—froth and wind ! TO JULIA. A dream, I find, illusory as sweet : Is dearer far than passion's bland deceit! Your heart was only mine, I once believed. Ah! shall I say that all your vows were air ? And must I say, my hopes were all deceived ? Vow, then, no longer that our souls are twined, That all our joys are felt with mutual zeal: Julia ! 't is pity, pity makes you kind; You know I love, and you would seem to feel. But shall I still go revel in those arms On bliss in which affection takes no part? No, no! farewell! you give me but your charms, When I had fondly thought you gave your heart. * * * IMPROMPTU. Two little miniatures of me: TO MRS. M- Those little pouting smiles recal- Who was my love, my life, my all! Oh! while this heart delirious took Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look, And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh! Yes, I did love her-madly love She was the sweetest, best deceiver ! And oft she swore she'd never rove! And I was destined to believe her! Then, lady, do not wear the smile Of her whose smile could thus betray: Alas! I think the lovely wile Again might steal my heart away. And when the spell that stole my mind On lips so pure as thine I see, Will err again, and fly to thee ! TO ROSA. Does the harp of Rosa slumber? Once it breathed the sweetest number. Never does a wilder song Steal the breezy lyre along, When the wind, in odours dying, Woos it with enamour'd sighing. Does the harp of Rosa cease ? Once it told a tale of peace To her lover's throbbing breastThen he was divinely blest ! Ah' but Rosa loves no more, Therefore Rosa's song is o'er; And her harp neglected lies; And her boy forgotten sighs. Silent harp-forgotten loverRosa's love and song are over! SONG. Why, the world are all thinking about it ; And, as for myself, I can swear, If I fancied that heaven were without it, I'd scarce feel a wish to go there. If Mahomet would but receive me, And Paradise be as he paints, I'm greatly afraid, God forgive me! I'd worship the eyes of his saints. But why should I think of a trip To the Prophet's seraglio above, When Phillida gives me her lip, As my own little heaven of love? Oh, Phillis ! that kiss may be sweeter Than ever by mortal was given ; But then 't is the creature Juxuriant and fresh That my passion with ecstacy owns : For indeed, my dear madam, though fond of the flesh I never was partial to bones! In joy or grief, but most in love, And thrill with like vibration. When mine no more is moving! Since, now, to feel a joy alone Were worse to thee than feeling none : Such sympathy in loving! In dewy vernal weather- “ Now, love, we feel together ?” ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. Sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep Nor sees my tears, nor hears my sighs, Oh! I will weep, in luxury weep, Till the last heart's-drop fills mine eyes. But if thy sainted soul can feel, And mingles in our misery, Then, then, my breaking heart I'll seal Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me! The beam of morn was on the stream, But sullen clouds the day deform: Thou wert, indeed, that morning beam, And death, alas ! that sullen storm. Thou wert not form'd for living here, For thou wert kindred with the sky; Yet, yet we held thee all so dear, We thought thou wert not form'd to die! TO JULIA. From yonder oak the ivy sever; Yet now the oak is fresh as ever. Not so the widow'd ivy shines : Torn from its dear and only stay, In drooping widowhood it pines, And scatters all its blooms away! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, Till Fate disturb'd their tender ties : Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, While mine, deserted, droops and dies ! TO JULIA. Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet, When absent souls in fancy meet! At midnight, love, I 'll think of thee! At midnight, love! oh think of me! Think that thou givest thy dearest kiss, And I will think I feel the bliss : Then, if thou blush, that blush be mine; And, if I weep, the tear be thine ! TO- Or on that lip in rapture twine ? Shall never more be press'd by mine. Can I again that look recall Which once could make me die for thee! No, no! the eye that burns on all Shall never more be prized by me! WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF OF A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK. No, no! when my heart's in these amorous faints, Which is seldom, thank Heaven ! the case ;For, by reading the Fathers, and Lives of the Saints, I keep up a stock of good grace : Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, That smile which is loveliest then ; And if such are the drops that delight can beguile, Thou shalt weep them again and again! SONG. Sweet girl! will you never give o'er ? And what can I swear to you more? Believe not the old woman's fable, That oaths are as short as a kiss ; I'll love you as long as I'm able, And swear for no longer than this. Then waste not the time with professions ; For not to be blest when we can Is one of the darkest transgressions That happen 'twixt woman and man.Pretty moralist! why thus beginning My innocent warmth to reprove ? Heaven knows that I never loved sinning Except little sinnings in love! If swearing, however, will do it, Come, bring me the calendar, prayI vow by that lip I'll go through it, And not miss a saint on my way. The angels shall help me to wheedle; I'll swear upon every one Or rode on a beam of the sun! Enchain an emotion so free? Will ne'er be sufficient for me. If you think, by this coolness and scorning, To seem more angelic and bright, Be an angel, my love, in the morning, But, oh! be a woman to-night! RONDEAU. “Good night! good night !”—and is it so ? And must I from my Rosa go? Oh, Rosa! say“Good night!” once more, And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er, Till the first glance of dawning light Shall find us saying still, "Good night!" And still “Good night!" my Rosa sayBut whisper still," A minute stay;" And I will stay, and every minute Shall have an age of rapture in it. We'll kiss and kiss in quick delight, And murmur, while we kiss, “Good night!" “Good night!" you 'll murmur with a sigh, And tell me it is time to fly: And I will vow to kiss no more; Yet kiss you closer than before; Till slumber seal our weary sightAnd then, my love! my soul! “Good night!" AN ARGUMENT TO ANY PHILLIS OR CHLOE. I've oft been told by learned friars, That wishing and the crime are one, And Heaven punishes desires As much as if the deed were done. If wishing damns us, you and I Are damn'd to all our heart's content; Come then, at least we may enjoy Some pleasure for our punishment! TO ROSA. LIKE him who trusts to summer skies, And puts his little bark to sea, Is he who, lured by smiling eyes, Consigns his simple heart to thee: For fickle is the summer wind, And sadly may the bark be toss'd; For thou art sure to change thy mind, And then the wretched heart is lost! TO ROSA. TO ROSA. At a meeting of rapture like this, Have been paid by a moment of bliss ? Which dwells on her memory yet ? From the warmth of the sun that has set ? WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. THE wisest soul, by anguish torn, Will soon unlearn the lore it knew; And when the shrining casket 's worn, The gem within will tarnish too. But love 's an essence of the soul, Which sinks not with this chain of clay“ Which throbs beyond the chill control Of withering pain or pale decay. And surely when the touch of death Dissolves the spirit's mortal ties, Love still attends the soaring breath, And makes it purer for the skies ! Oh, Rosa!, when, to seek its sphere, My soul shall leave this orb of men ! That love it found so blissful here Shall be its best of blisses then! And, as in fabled dreams of old, Some airy genius, child of time! 1 I believe Mr. Little alluded here to a famous question among the early schoolmen : "how many thousand angels could dance upon the point of a very fine needle, without jostling one another ?" If he could have been thinking of the schools while he was writing this song, we cannot say "canit indoctum." |