« ForrigeFortsæt »
Well there are some, thou stormy bed,
Oh! most to him,
Round sorrow's brim.
But, whither means the muse to roam ?
Long may the bowl that pleasures bloom in,
Mirth and song, your board illumine. At all your feasts, remember too,
When cups are sparkling to the brim, That here is one who drinks to you,
And, oh! as warmly drink to him.
Yes he can smile serene at death :
Of friends who love him ;
No more shall move him.
ODES TO NEA;
WRITTEN AT BERKUDA.
NEA rupavvet.-EURIPID. Medea, v. 967.
WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA.
That sky of clouds is not the sky To light a lover to the pillow
Of her he lovesThe swell of yonder foaming billou Resembles not the happy sigh
That rapture moves
Nay, tempt me not to love again,
There was a time when love was sweet ; Dear Nea! had I known thee then,
Our souls had not been slow to meet. But, oh, this weary heart hath run,
So many a time, the rounds of pain, Not ev'n for thee, thou lovely one,
Would I endure such pangs again.
Yet do I feel more tranquil far
In this dark hour,
To Julia's bower.
Oh! there's a holy calm profound
To pleasure's thrill; 'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, And the soul, listening to the sound,
If there be climes, where never yet
Though little prized when all my ownl, * An aquis globi Veneris baptismus institui possit?" to which the Genius answers, “ Certainly."
I This idea is Father Kircher's. "Tot animatos soles dixisses."- Itinerar. I. Dial. i. cap. 5.
Lies mute and still.
such being, according to astrologers, the “vis influxiva" of Venus. When they are in this part of the heavens, a casuistical question occurs to Theodidactus, and he asks, “Whether baptism may be performed with the waters of Venus ?"
Now float before me, soft and bright
As when they first enamoring shono,What hours and days have I seen glide, While fix'd, enchanted, by thy side, Unmindful of the fleeting day, I've let life's dream dissolve away. O bloom of youth profusely shed ! O moments! simply, vainly sped, Yet sweetly too—for Love perfumed The flame which thus my life consumed; And brilliant was the chain of flowers, In which he led my victim-hours.
Remember, o'er its circling flood
The silent sea before us,
No eye but heaven's o'er us!
I saw you blush, you felt me tremble,
All we then look'd and thought ; 'Twas more than tongue could dare reveal, 'Twas ev'ry thing that young hearts feel,
By Love and Nature taught.
Say, Nea, say, couldst thou, like her, When warm to feel and quick to err, Of loving fond, of roving fonder, This thoughtless soul might wish to wander, Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim,
Endearing still, reproaching never, Till ev'n this heart should burn with shame,
And be thy own more fix'd than ever ? No, no-on earth there's only one
Could bind such faithless folly fast; And sure on earth but one alone
Could make such virtue false at last!
I stoop'd to cull, with faltering hand, A shell that, on the golden sand
Before us faintly gleam'd; I trembling raised it, and when yiki Had kiss'd the shell, I kiss'd it too
How sweet, how wrong it seem'd!
Oh, trust me, 'twas a place, an hour, The worst that e'er the tempter's power
Could tangle me or you in ; Sweet Nea, let us roam no more Along that wild and lonely shore,
Such walks may be our ruin.
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,
Bat must not, dare not, love again.
You read it in these spell-bound 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.
Tale iter omne cave.
PROPERT. lib. iv. eleg. &
I PRAY you, let us roam no more
Where late we thoughtless stray'd; 'Twas not for us, whom heaven intends To be no more than simple friends,
Such lonely walks were made.
Heard you the wish I dared to name,
To murmur on that luckless night, When passion broke tho bonds of shamo,
And love grew madness in your sight?
Divinoly through the graceful dance,
You seem'd to float in silent song, Bending to earth that sunny glance,
As if to light your steps along.
That little Bay, where turning in From ocean's rude and angry din,
As lovers steal to bliss, The billows kiss the shore, and then Flow back into the deep again,
As though they did not kiss.
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 Love and me!
With smiling eyes, that little thought
How fatal were the beams they throw, My trembling hands you lightly caught,
And round me, like a spirit, flew.
I felt, so strongly fancy's power
Were lighted by a Grecian sky,
That late had thrillid to Sappho's sigh.
Heedless of all, but you alone,
And you, at least, should not condemn, If, when such eyes before me shone,
My soul forgot all eyes but them,
I dared to whisper passion's vow,
For love had ev'n of thought bereft me,Nay, half-way bent to kiss that brow,
But, with a bound, you blushing left me.
Forget, forget that night's offence,
Forgive it, if, alas ! you can; 'Twas love, 'twas passion-soul and sense
"Twas all that's best and worst in man.
Thus, waking, dream'd 1,--and when Sleep
Came o'er my sense, the dream went on;
Hath ever lovelier vison shone.
To polish virtue's native brightness,-
Have play'd with, wear a smoother whitenese 'Twas one of those delicious nights
So common in the climes of Greece,
And all is moonshine, balm, and peace.
But all was form'd to sooth or move,
To make the coldest learn to love.
That moment, did th' assembled eyes
Of heaven and earth my madness view,
But you alone—but only you.
Did not a frown from you reprove,
Myriads of eyes to me were none; Enough for me to win your love,
And die upon the spot when won.
A DREAM OF ANTIQUITY.
I just had turn'd the classic page,
And traced that happy period over, When blest alike were youth and age, And love inspired the wisest sage,
And wisdom grace, the tenderest lover.
And now the fairy pathway seem'd
To lead us through enchanted ground,
Of love or luxury bloom'd around.
Through which the soul perchance may roam
And gone to seek its heavenly home.
Before I laid me down to sliep,
Awhile I from the lattice guzed Upon that still and moonlight deep,
With isles like floating gardens raised For Ariel there his sports to keep ; While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores, The lone night-fisher plied his oars.
1 Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias men ? This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhi tions in his first book, were those of Epicurus; and Stuart to be played with by doves, is mentioned by the fanciful Ca says, in his Antiquities of Athens, “ Near this convent (the danus, de Rerum Varietat. lib. vii. cap. 34. convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place called at present 3 In Hercynio Germaniæ saltu inusitata genera alitum ai Kepol, or the Gardens; and Ampelos Kepos, or the Vine- cepimus, quarum plumæ, ignium modo, colluceant noctibu yard Garden: these were probably the gardens which Pau - Plin. lib. I. cap. 47. sanias visited." Vol. i. chap. 2.
And, Nea, thou wert by my side,
To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves,'
Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom
But, lo, as wand'ring thus we ranged
Through halls of more voluptuous glory
Or wanton'd in Milesian story.'
Pouring the flowery wines of Crete;'
The onyx shone beneath their feet. While others, waving arms of snow
Entwined by snakes of burnish'd gold,
Through many a thin Tarentian fold,
Through the lime-cover'd alley that leads to thy
If I were yonder wave, my dear,
And thou the isle it clasps around,
My land of bliss, my fairy ground.
Oh, Nea! why did morning break
The spell that thus divinely bound me? Why did I wake ? how could I wake
With thee my own and heaven around me !
If I were yonder conch of gold,
And thou the pearl within it placed,
The sacred gems my arms embraced.
Well-peace to thy heart, though another’s it be,
If I were yonder orange-treo,
And thou the blossom blooming there,
To scent the most imploring air.
1 The Milesiacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in 'Mi the Muscatel, (a muscarum telis,") says Pancirollus, book i., letas, a luxurious town of lonia. Aristides was the most sect. 1, chap. 17. celebrated author of these licentious fictions. See Plutarch, 7 I had, at this time, some idea of paying a visit to the (in Crasso,) who calls them axudaoru Biblia.
West Indies. * * Some of the Cretan wines, which Athenæus calls orvos 8 The inhabitants pronounce the name as if it were writartaculas, from their fragrancy resembling that of the ten Bermooda. See the commentators on the words “stillo finest flowers."- Barry on Wines, chap. vii.
vex'd Bermoothes," in the Tempest.-I wonder it did not · It appears that in very splendid mansions, the floor or occur to some of those all-reading gentlemen that, possibly, pavement was frequently of onyx. Thus Martial : “Calca the discoverer of this “ island of hogs and devils" might have fusque tuo sub pede lucet onyx." Epig. 50, lib. xii.
been no less a personage than the great John Bermudez, • Bracelets of this shape were a favorite ornament among who, about the same period (the beginning of the sixteenth the women of antiquity. oi cheKapitologis kai al Xpvoor century) was sent Patriarch of the Latin church to Ethiopia, redai Oaidos kat Aprorayopas kai Aaidos ¢uppaxa.--Philos- and has left us most wonderful stories of the Amazons and trat. Epist. xl. Lucian, too, tells us of the Bpaxiouoi dpa- the Griffins which he encountered.-- Trarels of the Jesuits, **T05. See his Amores, where he describes the dressing. vol. i. I am afraid, however, it would take the Patriarch roon of a Grecian lady, and we find the "silver vase," the rather too much out of his way. muge, the tooth-powder, and all the “mystic order" of a 9 Johnson does not think that Waller was ever at Bermuda; modern toilet.
but the “ Account of the European Settlements in America" ο Ταραντινιδιον, διαφανες ενδυμα, ωνομασμενος απο της affirms it confidently, (vol. ii.) I mention this work, however, Ταραντινων χρήσεως και τρυφης.-Pollur.
less for its authority than for the pleasure I feel in quoting • Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, lib. xiv., and “now called an unacknowledged production of the great Edníund Burke.
Oh! bend not o'er the water's brink,
Give not the wave that odorous sigh, Nor let its burning mirror drink
The soft reflection of thine eye.
That glossy hair, that glowing cheek,
So pictured in the waters seem, That I could gladly plunge to seek
Thy image in the glassy stream.
Blest fate! at once my chilly grave
And nuptial bed that stream might be ; I'll wed thee in its mimic wave,
And die upon the shade of thee.
Behold the leafy mangrove, bending
O'er the waters blue and bright, Like Nea's silky lashes, lending
Shadow to her eyes of light.
Oh, my beloved! where'er I turn,
Some trace of thee enchants mine eyes ; In every star thy glances burn;
Thy blush on every flow'ret lies.
Nor find I in creation aught
Of bright, or beautiful, or rare, Sweet to the sense, or pure to tkought,
But thou art found reflected there.
How sweet to behold him, when borne on the gale,
And brightening the bosom of morn,
O'er the brow of each virginal thorn.
Is the veil of a vestal severe;
Should the Snow Spirit ever come here
But fly to his region-lay open thy zone,
And he'll weep all his brilliancy dim,
Should not melt in the daybeam like him.
O'er his luminous path will appear-
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.
Ενταύθα δε καθωρμισται ημιν. και ό, τι μεν ονομα τη νησι
ουκ οιδα χρυση δ' αν προς γε εμου ονομαζοιτο.-PHILO:
I STOLE along the flowery bank,
'Twas noon; and every orange bud
No, ne'er did the wave in its element steef
An island of lovelier charms
Like Hebe in Hercules' arms.
And their melody balm to the ear;
And the Snow Spirit nover comes here.
A little dove, of milky hue,
The down from his wing is as white as the pearl
That shines thr thy lips when they part,
As a murmur of thine on the heart.
As he cradles the birth of the year;
But the Snow Spirit cannot come here.
And-bless the little pilot dove !
1 The seaside or mangrove grape, a native of the West but it is quite true enough for poetry Plato, I think, allos Indies.
a poet to be "three removes from truth;" fpiraros ato T 3 The Agave. This, I am aware, is an erroneous notion, annoccas.