And had such manly ardour in his eye, Softly the breezes from the forest came, Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals, Are closing in the west; or that soft humming ΤΟ SOME LADIES. WHAT though while the wonders of nature exploring, Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes, With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes, Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews. Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling? Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling, Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air. 'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping, C If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending, Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven; And smiles, with his star - cheering voice sweetly blending, The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given; It had not created a warmer emotion Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you, Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw. For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure, On receiving a curious Shell, and a Copy of HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine? Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing? And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis ? What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave, Embroidered with many a spring peering flower? Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave? And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower? Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd; Full many the glories that brighten thy youth! I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound In magical powers to bless, and to sooth. On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain. This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay ; And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish. There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened; The wondering spirits of heaven were mute, And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened. In this little dome, all those melodies strange, Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change; Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die. So, when I am in a voluptuous vein, I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd; TO * * * * HADST thou liv'd in days of old, And thy humid eyes that dance In the very fane of lightness. Turn to whence they sprung before. With a glossy waviness; Full, and round like globes that rise From the censer to the skies Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness Of thy honied voice; the neatness Of thine ankle lightly turn'd: With those beauties, scarce discern'd, Kept with such sweet privacy, That they seldom meet the eye Of the little loves that fly Round about with eager pry. Saving when, with freshening lave, Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave; Like twin water lillies, born In the coolness of the morn. O, if thou hadst breathed then, Couldst thou wish for lineage higher Than twin sister of Thalia? At least for ever, evermore, Hadst thou liv'd when chivalry Tell me what thou wouldst have been? Of thy broidered, floating vest Has placed a golden cuirass there; Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested O'er his loins, his trappings glow Sign of the enchanter's death; Bane of every wicked spell; Silencer of dragon's yell. Alas! thou this wilt never do : Thou art an enchantress too, And wilt surely never spill Blood of those whose eyes can kill. ΤΟ HOPE. WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; |