Oh! say, do you thus, in the luminous hour
Of wine and of wit, when the heart is in flower,
And shoots from the lip, under Bacchus's dew,
In blossoms of thought ever springing and new—
Do you sometimes remember, and hallow the brim
Of your cup with a sigh, as you crown it to him
Who is lonely and sad in these valleys so fair,
And would pine in elysium, if friends were not there?
Last night, when we came from the calabash tree,
When my limbs were at rest and my spirit was free,
The glow of the grape and the dreams of the day
Put the magical springs of my fancy in play;
And, oh! such a vision as haunted me then
I could slumber for ages to witness again!
The many I like, and the few I adore,
The friends, who were dear and beloved before,
But never till now so beloved and dear,
At the call of my fancy surrounded me here!
Soon, soon did the flattering spell of their smile
To a paradise brighten the blest little isle;
Serener the wave, as they look'd on it, flow'd,
And warmer the rose, as they gather'd it, glow'd!
Not the valleys Heræan (though water'd by rills
Of the pearliest flow, from those pastoral hills,
Where the song of the shepherd, primæval and wild,
Was taught to the nymphs by their mystical child)
Could display such a bloom of delight, as was given
By the magic of love, to this miniature heaven!
Oh, magic of love! unembellish'd by you,
Has the garden a blush or the herbage a hue?
Or blooms there a prospect in nature or art,
Like the vista that shines through the eye to the heart?
Alas! that a vision so happy should fade!
That, when morning around me in brilliancy play'd,
The rose and the stream I had thought of at night
Should still be before me, unfadingly bright;
While the friends, who had seem'd to hang over the stream,
And to gather the roses, had fled with my dream!
But see, through the harbour, in floating array, The bark that must carry these pages away Impatiently flutters her wing to the wind,
And will soon leave the bowers of Ariel behind!
1 A ship ready to sail for England.
What billows, what gales is she fated to prove,
Ere she sleep in the lee of the land that I love!
Yet pleasant the swell of those billows would be,
And the sound of those gales would be music to me!
Not the tranquillest air that the winds ever blew,
Not the silvery lapse of the summer-eve dew,
Were as sweet as the breeze, or as bright as the foam
Of the wave that would carry your wanderer home!
Quand l'homme commence à raisonner, il cesse de sentir.
"TWAS in the summer-time, so sweet,
When hearts and flowers are both in season,
That-who, of all the world, should meet,
One early dawn, but Love and Reason!
Love told his dream of yester-night,
While Reason talked about the weather;
The morn, in sooth, was fair and bright,
And on they took their way together.
The boy in many a gambol flew,
While Reason like a Juno stalk'd,
And from her portly figure threw
A lengthen'd shadow, as she walk'd.
No wonder Love, as on they pass'd
Should find that sunny morning chill,
For still the shadow Reason cast
Fell on the boy, and cool'd him still.
In vain he tried his wings to warm,
Or find a pathway not so dim,
For still the maid's gigantic form
Would pass between the sun and him!
"This must not be," said little Love-
"The sun was made for more than you."
So, turning through a myrtle grove,
He bid the portly nymph adieu!
Now gaily roves the laughing boy
O'er many a mead, by many a stream;
In every breeze inhaling joy,
And drinking bliss in every beam.
From all the gardens, all the bowers,
He cull'd the many sweets they shaded, And ate the fruits and smell'd the flowers, Till taste was gone and odour faded ! of noon,
But now the sun, in pomp
Look'd blazing o'er the parched plains; Alas! the boy grew languid soon,
And fever thrill'd through all his veins !
The dew forsook his baby brow,
No more with vivid bloom he smiledOh! where was tranquil Reason now To cast her shadow o'er the child?
Beneath a green and aged palm
His foot at length for shelter turning, He saw the nymph reclining calm,
With brow as cool, as his was burning!
"Oh! take me to that bosom cold,"
In murmurs at her feet he said;
And Reason oped her garment's fold,
And flung it round his fever'd head.
He felt her bosom's icy touch,
And soon it lull'd his pulse to rest; For, ah! the chill was quite too much, And Love expired on Reason's breast!
NAY, do not weep, my Fanny dear!
While in these arms you lie,
The world hath not a wish, a fear,
That ought to claim one precious tear
From that beloved eye!
The world!—ah, Fanny! love must shun
The path where many rove;
One bosom to recline upon,
One heart, to be his only one,
Are quite enough for love!
What can we wish, that is not here
Between your arms and mine?
Is there, on earth, a space so dear
As that within the blessed sphere
Two loving arms entwine?
For me, there's not a lock of jet,
Along your temples curl'd,
Within whose glossy, tangling net,
My soul doth not, at once, forget
All, all the worthless world!
'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love!
My only worlds I see;
Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below and skies above
May frown or smile for me!
'Twas in the fair Aspasia's bower,
That Love and Learning, many an hour,
In dalliance met, and Learning smiled
With rapture on the playful child,
Who wanton stole, to find his nest
Within a fold of Learning's vest!
There, as the listening statesman hung
In transport on Aspasia's tongue,
The destinies of Athens took
Their colour from Aspasia's look.
Oh, happy time! when laws of state,
When all that ruled the country's fate,
Its glory, quiet, or alarms,
Was plann'd between two snowy arms!
Sweet times! you could not always last—
And yet, oh! yet, you are not past;
Though we have lost the sacred mould,
In which their men were cast of old,
Woman, dear woman, still the same,
While lips are balm and looks are flame,
While man possesses heart or eyes,
Woman's bright empire never dies!
Fanny, my love, they ne'er shall say,
That beauty's charm hath pass'd away;
No-give the universe a soul
Attuned to woman's soft control,
And Fanny hath the charm, the skill,
To wield a universe at will!
THE GRECIAN GIRL'S DREAM
OF THE BLESSED ISLANDS.1
TO HER LOVER.
ήχι τε καλος
Πυθαγόρης, όσσοι τε χορον στηριξαν ερωτος.
Аπоλшν теρi IIAWτivov. Oracul. Metric. a Joan.
Opsop. collec:a.
WAS it the moon, or was it morning's ray,
That call'd thee, dearest, from these arms away?
I linger'd still, in all the murmuring rest,
The languor of a soul too richly blest!
Upon my breath the sigh yet faintly hung;
Thy name yet died in whispers o'er my tongue;
I heard thy lyre, which thou hadst left behind,
In amorous converse with the breathing wind;
Quick to my heart I press'd the shell divine,
And, with a lip yet glowing warm from thine,
I kiss'd its every chord, while every kiss
Shed o'er the chord some dewy print of bliss.
Then soft to thee I touch'd the fervid lyre,
Which told such melodies, such notes of fire,
As none but chords, that drank the burning dews
Of kisses dear as ours, could e'er diffuse!
O love! how blissful is the bland repose,
That soothing follows upon rapture's close,
Like a soft twilight, o'er the mind to shed
Mild melting traces of the transport fled!
While thus I lay, in this voluptuous calm,
A drowsy languor steep'd my eyes in balm,
Upon my lap the lyre in murmurs fell,
While, faintly wandering o'er its silver shell,
My fingers soon their own sweet requiem play'd,
And slept in music which themselves had made!
Then, then, my Theon, what a heavenly dream!
I saw two spirits, on the lunar beam,
Two winged boys, descending from above,
And gliding to my bower with looks of love,
Like the young genii, who repose their wings
All day in Amatha's luxurious springs,
And rise at midnight from the tepid rill,
To cool their plumes upon some moonlight hill!
1 It was imagined by some of the ancients that there is an ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two floating, luminous islands in which the spirits of the blest reside. Accordingly we find that the word KEAVOS was sometimes synonymous with anp, and death was not unfrequently called Nкeavolo Tороs, or "the passage of the ocean."-ED.
|