LVIII. The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd 12 Her glance how wildly beautiful! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch! Who round the North for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak! LIX. Match me, ye climes! which poets love to laud; Match me, ye harams of the land! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. LX. Oh, thou Parnassus ! 13 whom I now survey, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one Muse will waye her wing. LXI. Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. I tremble, and can only bend the knee; In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Whose fate to distant homes confin'd their lot, Shall I unmov'd behold the hallow'd scene, Which others rave of, though they know it not? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, Some gentle Spirit still pervades the spot, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious Wave. LXIII. Of thee hereafter.-Ev'n amidst my strain LXIV. But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount! when Greece was young, See round thy giant base a brighter choir, Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung The song of love, than Andalusia's maids, Ah! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glades. `. LXV. Fair is proud Seville; let her country boast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days; ' But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. 14 LXVI. When Paphos fell by Time-accursed Time! The queen who conquers all must yield to thee! To nought else constant, hither deign'd to flee; And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white: Though not to one dome circumscribeth she LXVII. From morn till night, from night till startled Morn Peeps blushing on the Revels laughing crew, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn, Of true devotion monkish incense burns, And Love and Prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. |