Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ;
For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn,
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field;
And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd:
"What pity, that so delicate a form,
By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense
And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell,
Should be devoted to the rude embrace
Of some indecent clown! She looks, methinks,
Of old Acasto's line; and to my mind
Recals that patron of my happy life,

From whom my liberal fortune took its rise ;
Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands,
And once fair-spreading family, dissolv'd!
'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat,
Urg'd by remembrance sad, and decent pride,
Far from those scenes which knew their better days,
His aged widow and his daughter live,

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find:
Romantic wish! would this the daughter were !"
When, strict inquiring, from herself he found
She was the same, the daughter of his friend,
Of bountiful Acasto! who can speak

The mingled passions that surpris'd his heart,
And through his nerves in shivering transport ran!
Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold;
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,
Love, gratitude, and pity, wept at once.
Confus'd, and frighten'd at his sudden tears,
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom,
As thus Palemon, passionate and just,
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul:

"And art thou then Acasto's dear remains?
She, whom my restless gratitude has sought
So long in vain? O heavens! the very same,
The soften'd image of my noble friend,
Alive his every look, his every feature,
More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring!
Thou sole-surviving blossom from the root.
That nourish'd up my fortune! say, ah! where,
In what sequester'd desert, hast thou drawn

The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven,
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair;
Though poverty's cold wind, and crushing rain,
Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years?
Oh, let me now into a richer soil

Transplant thee safe! where vernal suns, and showers,
Diffuse their warmest, largest influence;

And of my garden be the pride and joy!
Ill it befits thee, oh it ill befits

Acasto's daughter-his, whose open stores,
Though vast, were little to his ampler heart-
The father of a country! thus to pick
The very refuse of those harvest fields
Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.
Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,
But ill-applied to such a rugged task;
The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine;
If to the various blessings which thy house
Has on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss,
That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee!"
Here ceas'd the youth: yet still his speaking eye
Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul,
With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,
Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd.
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm
Of goodness irresistible, and all

In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent-
The news immediate to her mother brought,

While pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin'd away
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate.

Amaz'd, and scarce believing what she heard,
Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam
Of setting life shone on her evening hours:
Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair;
Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'd
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,
And good, the grace of all the country round.

B b

Satan surveying the Horrors of Hell.

"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime?"

Said then the lost archangel,

"this the seat

That we must change for heaven?-this mournful gloom

For that celestial light? Be it so! since he,
Who now is Sovereign, can dispose and bid
What shall be right! farthest from him is best,
Whom reason hath equall'd, force hath made supreme,
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,
Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest hell!
Receive thy new possessor-one, who brings
A mind not to be chang'd by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be-all but less than he
Whom thunder had made greater? Here at least
We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven!
But wherefore let we, then, our faithful friends,
The associates and co-partners of our loss,
Lie thus astonish'd on the oblivious pool,
And call them not to share with us their part
In this unhappy mansion; or once more
With rallied arms to try what may be yet
Regain'd in heaven, or what more lost in hell?”

[ocr errors]

Milton.

Both Kings and Subjects may err.

WE love

The king, who loves the law, respects his bounds,

And reigns content within them: him we serve Freely and with delight, who leaves us free: But recollecting still, that he is man,

your love

We trust him not too far. King though he be,
And King in England too, he may be weak,
And vain enough to be ambitious still;
May exercise amiss his proper powers,
Or covet more than freemen choose to grant:
Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours,
T'administer, to guard, t' adorn, the state,
But not to warp or change it. We are his,
To serve him nobly in the common cause,
True to the death, but not to be his slaves.
Mark now the diff'rence, ye that boast
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours.
We love the man, the paltry pageant you:
We, the chief patron of the commonwealth,
You, the regardless author of its woes:
We, for the sake of liberty, a king;
You, chains and bondage, for a tyrant's sake.
Our love is principle, and has its root
In reason, is judicious, manly, free;
Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod,
And licks the foot that treads it in the dust.
Were kingship as true treasure as it seems,
Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish,
I would not be a king to be beloved
Causeless, and daubed with undiscerning praise,
Where love is mere attachment to the throne,
Not to the man who fills it as he ought.

Adam and Eve Conversing.

"FAIR Consort, th' hour

Of night, and all things now retir❜d to rest,
Mind us of like repose, since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night to men

Cowper.

Successive; and the timely dew of sleep, it r
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines -
Our eyelids; other creatures all day long and
Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest;
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed, which declares his dignity,
And the regard of Heav'n on all his ways;
While other animals unactive range,

And of their doings God takes no account.
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be risen,
And at our pleasant labour, to reform
Yon flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green,
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,
That mock our scant manuring, and require
More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth;
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums
That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease;
Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest."

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorn'd: My Author and Disposer, what thou bidst Unargued I obey; so God ordains;

God is thy law, thou mine; to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
With thee conversing I forget all time;
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist'ring with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft show'rs; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of Heav'n, her starry train;
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night,

« AnteriorContinuar »