THEY try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
That you are not a daughter of ether and light,
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms
That dance upon rainbows, and ride upon storms';
That, in short, you're a woman; your lip and your breast
As mortal as ever were tasted or prest!
But I will not believe them-no, Science ! to you
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu :
Still flying from nature, to study her laws,
And dulling delight by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior, for mortals below,
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know.
Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;
How rays are confused, or how particles fly
Through the medium refin❜d of a glance or a sigh!
Is there one, who but once would not rather have
Than written with HARVEY, whole volumes upon it? No-no-but for you, my invisible love,
I will swear, you are one of those spirits, that rove
* This and the subsequent poem have appeared in the public prints.
By the bank, where, at twilight, the poet reclines,
When the star of the west on his solitude shines,
And the magical fingers of Fancy have hung
Ev'ry breeze with a sigh, ev'ry leaf with a tongue!
Oh! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone
Can hallow his harp, or ennoble its tone e;
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between,
His
song
to the world let him utter unseen,
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
To have you for ever invisibly nigh,
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care,
I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air,
And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew,
To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.
Oh! come and be near me, for ever be mine,
We shall hold in the air a communion divine,
As sweet as, of old, was imagin'd to dwell
In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell.
And oft, at those lingering moments of night,
When the heart is weigh'd down and the eyelid is light,
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love,
Such as angel to angel might whisper above!
Oh spirit !—and then, could you borrow the tone
Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known,
The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin'd
With her essence for ever my heart and my mind!
Though lonely, and far from the light of her smile,
An exile and weary and hopeless the while,
Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear,
I will think at that moment my CARA is near;
That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak,
And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek,
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by,
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven, is nigh!
Sweet spirit! if such be your magical power,
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour;
And let Fortune's realities frown as they will,
Hope, Fancy, and CARA, may smile for me still
Written at the Commencement of the present War.
WHERE is now the smile, that lighten'd
Every hero's couch of rest?
Where is now the hope, that brighten'd
Honor's eye and Pity's breast?
Have we lost the wreath we braided
For our weary warrior-men?
Is the faithless olive faded?
Must the bay be pluck'd again?
Passing hour of sunny weather
Lovely, in your light awhile,
Peace and Glory, wed together,
Wander'd through the blessed isle.
And the eyes of Peace would glisten,
Dewy as the morning sun,
When the timid maid would listen
To the deeds her chief had done.
Is the hour of dalliance over?
Must the maiden's trembling feet
Waft her from her warlike lover
To the desert's still retreat?
Fare you well! with sighs we banish
Nymph so fair and guest so bright; Yet the smile, with which you vanish, Leaves behind a soothing light!
Soothing light! that long shall sparkle
O'er your warrior's sanguine way,
Through the field where horrors darkle,
Shedding Hope's consoling ray!
Long the smile his heart will cherish,
To its absent idol true,
While around him myriads perish,
Glory still will sigh for you!
To be the theme of every hour
The heart devotes to Fancy's power,
When her soft magic fills the mind
With friends and joys we've left behind,
And joys return and friends are near,
And all are welcom'd with a tear!
In the mind's purest seat to dwell,
To be remember'd oft and well
By one whose heart, though vain and wild, By passion led, by youth beguil❜d,
Can proudly still aspire to know
The feeling soul's divinest glow!
If thus to live in every part
Of a loan weary wanderer's heart;
If thus to be its sole employ
Can give thee one faint gleam of joy ;
Believe it, MARY! Oh! believe
A tongue that never can deceive,
When passion doth not first betray
And tinge the thought upon its way!
In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour,
In crowded hall or lonely bower,
The business of my life shall be,
For ever to remember thee!
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