How rays are confin'd, 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 known it
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
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;
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 agent of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
For ever to have you invisibly nigh,
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
'Mid the crowds of the world, and the murmurs of
I could sometimes converse with my nymph of the air,
And turn with delight 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 pure 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 eye-lid 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;
Tho' lonely, and far from the light of her smile,
An exile, and weary, and hopeless the while,
Could you shed for a moment her 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 eye-lid 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 pow'r,
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!
In vain to melt that heap of snow,
Which keeps your virgin heart so cold,
Soft Pity caus'd the tear to flow
As my sad hopeless tale I told.
Then cease to pity; for your eye,
Your radiant eye, and breast, appear
More lovely heaving with a sigh,
And brighter glistening through a tear.
FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTHOLEME LEONARDO.
As the deep river swift and silent flows,
Towards the ocean, I am borne adown
The quiet tide of time. Nought now remains
Of the past years; and for the years to come,
Their dark and undiscoverable deeds
Elude the mortal eye. Beholding thus
How daily life wanes on, so may I learn,
Not with an unprovided mind, to meet
That hour, when Death shall gather up the old
And wither'd plant, whose season is gone by.
The spring flowers fade, th' autumnal fruits decay,
And gray old Winter, with his clouds and storms,
Comes on; the leaves, whose calm cool murmuring
Made pleasant music to our green-wood walks,
Now rustle dry beneath our sinking feet.
So all things rise and perish; we the while
Do, with a dull and profitless eye, behold
All this, and think not of our latter end.
My friend we will not let that soil, which oft
Impregnate with the rains and dews of heaven,
Is barren still and stubborn to the plough,
* They form part of an Epistle written in his latter years.
Emblem our thankless hearts; nor of our God
Forgetful, be as is the worthless vine,
That in due season brings not forth its fruits.
Think'st thou, that God created man alone
To wander o'er the world and ocean waste,
Or for the blasting thunderbolt of war?
Was this his being's end? Oh! how he errs,
Who of his godlike nature and his God
Thus poorly, basely, blasphemously deems!
For higher actions, and for loftier ends,
Our better part, the deathless and divine,
Was formed. The fire that animates my breast
May not be quench'd, and when that breast is cold,
The unextinguishable fire shall burn
With brighter splendor: till that hour arrive,
Obedient to my better part, my friend,
Be it my lot to live, and thro' the world,
Careless of human praise, pass quietly.
The Eastern despot, he whose silver towers
Shot back a rival radiance to the sun,
He was too poor for Sin's extravagance;
But Virtue, like the air and light of Heaven,
To all accessible, at every heart,
Intreats admittance. Wretched fool is he
Who, through the perils of the earth and waves,
Toils on for wealth! A little peaceful home
Bounds all my wants and wishes, add to this
My book and friend, and this is happiness.
You own I'm complacent, but tell me I'm cold,
Then must I my youth's early sorrows unfold,
Must waken remembrance to joys that are fled,
Now hope is extinguish'd, and passion is dead.
I have lost in life's morn all that life could endear,
And if I am chearful, I smile through a tear.
My parents, though humble, were happy and good,
We could boast of our honour, if not of our blood:
My lover, ah! how the sad tale shall I tell,
For his country he fought, for his country he fell:
He was brave, he was true, to my soul he was dear,
His fame claims a smile, but it shines through a tear.
In vain would I picture my agoniz'd heart,
My parents' soft soothings no balm could impart :
They sunk o'er the child whom they could not relieve,
And the cold hand of Death left me only to grieve:
Thus fated to suffer, that moment draws near,
When you'll neither distinguish a smile nor a tear.
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