« ForrigeFortsæt »
Love lights her smile--in Joy's red nectar dips
O (have I sighed) were mine the wizard's rod, Or mine the power of Proteus, changeful God! A flower-entangled Arbour I would seem To shield my Love from Noontide's sultry beam : Or bloom a Myrtle, from whose odorous boughs My Love might weave gay garlands for her brows. When Twilight stole across the fading vale, To fan my Love I'd be the Evening Gale; Mourn in the soft folds of her swelling vest, And flutter my faint pinions on her breast ! On Seraph wing I'd float a Dream by night, To soothe my Love with shadows of delight:Or soar aloft to be the Spangled Skies, And gaze upon her with a thousand eyes !
As when the savage, who his drowsy frame Had basked beneath the Sun's unclouded flame, Awakes amid the troubles of the air, The skiey deluge, and white lightning's glareAghast he scours before the tempest's sweep, And sad recalls the sunny hour of sleep :So tossed by storms along Life's wildering way, Mine eye reverted views that cloudless day, When by my native brook I wont to rove, While Hope with kisses nursed the Infant Love.
Dear native brook ! like Peace, so placidly
Scenes of my Hope! the aching eye ye
leave Like yon bright hues that paint the clouds of eve! Tearful and saddening with the saddened blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful gaze: Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.
TO A YOUNG LADY,
WITH A POEM ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Much on my early youth I love to dwell,
Thus to sad sympathies I soothed my breast, Calm, as the rainbow in the weeping West: When slumbering Freedom roused by high Disdain With giant fury burst her triple chain ! Fierce on her front the blasting Dog-star glowed ; Her banners, like a midnight meteor, flowed ; Amid the yelling of the storm-rent skies She came, and scattered battles from her eyes !
* Lee Boo, the son of Abba Thule, Prince of the Pelew Islands, came over to England with Captain Wilson, died of the small-pox, and is buried in Rotherhithe church-yard. See Keate's Account.
† Southey's Retrospect.
Then Exultation waked the patriot fire
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low, And my heart aches, though Mercy struck the blow. With wearied thought once more I seek the shade, Where peaceful Virtue weaves the myrtle braid. And 0 ! if Eyes whose holy glances roll, Swift messengers, and eloquent of soul; If Smiles more winning, and a gentler Mien Than the love-wildered Maniac's brain hath seen Shaping celestial forms in vacant air, If these demand the impassioned Poet's careIf Mirth and softened Sense and Wit refined, The blameless features of a lovely mind; Then haply shall my trembling hand assign No fading wreath to Beauty's saintly shrine. Nor, Sara! thou these early flowers refuseNe'er lurked the snake beneath their simple hues ; No purple bloom the Child of Nature brings From Flattery's night-shade: as he feels he sings.
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.
The stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin's flowery vale: Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.
Cease, restless gale!” it seems to say,
“Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
" To-morrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming : His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin."
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
In Slumber's nightly hour.