Abbildungen der Seite

In this blest season, pregnant with delight, And while the virgins hail thee with their voice, Neo may the boading owl with screeches wound Heaping thy crowded way with greens and fiow'rs, The solemn silence of the quiet night,

And in the fondness of their heart rejoice Ne croaking raven, with unhallow'd sound, To sooth, with dance and song, thy geutler hours; Ne damned ghost affray with deadly yell Indulge the season, and with sweet repair The waking lover, rais'd by mighty spell, Embay thy limbs, the vernal beauties share: To pale the stars, till Hesper shine it back to Hell. Then blaze in arms again, renew'd for future wan Ne witches rifle gibbets, by the Moon,

Britannia's happy isle derives from May (With horrour winking, trembling all with fear) The choicest blessings Liberty bestows : Of many a clinking chain, and canker'd bone: When royal Charles (for ever hail the day!) Nor imp in visionary shape appear,

In mercy triumph'd o'er ignoble foes. To blast the thriving verdure of the plain; Restor'd with him, the Arts the drooping head Ne let hobgoblin, ne the ponk, profane (ing brain. Gaily again upreard; the Muses' shade (array'd. With shadowy glare the light, and mad the burst- With fresher honours bloom'd, in greener trinn Yet fairy-elves (so ancient custom's will8) And thon, the goodliest blossom of our isles! The green-gown'd fairy elves, by starry sheen", Great Frederic's and his Augusta's joy, May garnbol or in valley or on hill,

Thy native month approv'd with infant-smiles, And leave their footsteps on the circled green. Sweet as the smiling May, imperial boy! Full lightly trip it, dapper Mab, around;

Britannia hopes thee for her future lord, Full featly', Ob'ron, thou, o'er grass-turf bound : Lov'd as thy parents, only not ador'd! Mab brushes off no dew-drops, Ob'ron prints no Whene'er a George is born, Charles is again reground.

stord. Nes bloody rumours violate the ear,

O may his father's pant for finer fame, Of cities sack'd, and kingdoms desolate,

And boundless bountyhead to humankind; With plague or sword, with pestilence or war His grandsire's glory, and his uncle's naine, Ne rueful murder stain thy era-date;

Renown'd in war! intlame his ardcot mind:
Ne shameless Calumny, for fell despight,

So arts shall flourish 'neath his equal sway,
The foulest fiend that e'er blasphem'd the light, So arms the hostile nations wide affray;
At lovely lady rail, nor grin at courteous knight. The laurel, Victory; Apollo, wear the bay.
Ne wailing in our streets nor fields be heard, Through kind infusion of celestial pow'r,
Ne voice of Misery assault the heart;

The dullard-Earth May quick’neth with delight: Ne fatherless from takle be debard;

Full suddenly the seeds of joy recure3
Ne piteous tear from eye of Sorrow start; Elastic spring, and force within empight 4.
But Plenty, pour thyself into the bowl

If senscless elements invigorate prove
Of bounty-head; may never Want control By genial May, and heavy matter move, [love?
That good, good honest man, who feeds the fa- Shall shepherdesses cease, shall shepherds fail to
mish'd soul.

Ye shepherdesses, in a goodly round, Now let the trumpet's martial thunders sleep; Purpled with health, as in the greenwood-shade, The viol wake alone, and tender flute:

Incontinent ye thump the 'echoing ground The Phrygian lyre with sprightly fingers sweep, And deflly 5 lead the dance along the glade! And, Erato, dissolve the Lydian-lute.

(0 may no show’rs your merry-makes affray!) Yet Clio frets, and burns with honest pain, Hail at the op'ning, at the closing day, To rouze and animate the martial strain,

All hail, ye bonnibelso, to your own season, May. While British banners flame o'er many a purpled plain.

Nor ye absent yourselves, ye shepherd-swains,

But lend to dance and song the liberal May, The trumpet sleeps, but soon for thee shall wake, And while in jocund ranks you beat the plains, Illustious chiet! to sound thy mighty name, Your flocks shall nibble, and your lainbkins play, (Snatch'd from the malice of Lethean-lake) Frisking in glee. To May your girlands bring, Triumphant-swelling from the inouth of Fame. And ever and anon her praises sing: Mean hile, disdain not (so the virgins pray) The woods shall echo May, with May the valleys This rosy-crown, with myrtle wove and bay;

ring. (Too humble crown 1 ween) the offering of May.

Your May-pole deck with flow'ry coronal; 6 Nor. Affright.

Sprinkle the flow'ry coronal with wine; 8 The Lemuria, or rites sacred to the Lemures, And in the nimble-footed galliard, all, were celebrated by the Romans in May. See Shepherds and shepherdesses, lively, join." Ovid. Past. 1. 5. &c. They imagined the Lemures Hither from village sweet and hamlet fair, (in English, fairies) to be like ghosts of deceased Prom bordering cot and distant glenne repair: persons: but our traditional accounts are very Let youth indulge its sport, to elu 8 bequeath its different in respect to the nature of fairies. care. Shakespear's Midsummer's Night's Dream, Dray-, ton's Fairy Tale, and a celebrated old ballad, are 3 Recover. 4 Placed, fixed. 5 Finely. master-pieces in their kind.

6 Pretty women. ? A country hamlet. 9 Brightness, Nimbly.

1 Nor.


8 Old age.

Ye wanton Dryads and light-tripping Fawns, Hard is his heart, unmelted by thee, May!
Ye jolly Satyrs, full of lustyhead 9,

Unconscious of Love's nectar-tickling sting,
And ye that haunt the hills, the brooks, the lawns; And, unrelenting, cold to Beauty's ray;
O come with rural chaplets gay dispread : Beauty the mother and the child of Spring!
With heel so nimble wear the springing grass, Beauty and Wit declare the sexes even;
To shrilling bagpipe, or to tinkling brass;

Beauty, to woman, Wit to man is given;
Or foot it to the reed: Pan pipes himself apace. Neither the slime of Earth, but each the fire of

In this soft season, when Creation smild,
A quivering splendour on the Ocean hung, Alliance sweet! let Beauty Wit approve,
And from the fruitful froth, his fairest child, As flow'rs to sunshine ope the ready breast:
The queen of bliss and beauty, Venus sprung. Wit Beauty loves, and nothing else can love:
The dolphins gambol o'er the wat'ry way, The best alone is grateful to the best.
Carol the Naiads, while the Tritons play,

Perfection has no other parallel !
And all the sea-green sisters bless the holy-day. Can light, with darkness; doves with ravens

dwell ? In honour of her natal-month, the queen

As soon, perdies, shall Hear'n communion hold Of bliss and beauty consecrates her hours,

with Hell. Fresh as her cheek, and as her brow serene, To buxom ladies, and their paramours.

I sing to you, who love alone for love:
Love tips with golden alchymy bis dart;

Por gold the beauteous fools (O fools besure !)
With rapt'rous anguish, with an honey'd smart Can win; tho' brighter Wit shall never more:
Eye languishes on eye, and heart dissolves on But Folly is to Wit the certain cure.

Curs'd be the men, (or be they young or old)

Curs'd be the women, who themselves have sold
A softly-swelling hill, with myrtles crown'd, To the detested bed for lucre base of gold.
(Myrtles to Venus algates sacred been)
Hight Acidale, the fairest spot on ground, Not Julia such: she higher honour deem'd
For ever fragrant and for ever green,

To languish in the Sulmo poet's arıns,
O'erlooks the windings of a shady vale,

Than, by the potentates of Earth esteemid, By Beauty form'd for amorous regale,

To give to sceptres and to crowns her charms.
Was ever hill so sweet as sweetest Acidale? Not Laura such: in sweet Vauclusa's vale

She list’ued to her Petrarch's amorous tale.
All down the sides, the sides profuse of flow'rs, But did poor Colin Clout o'er Rosalind prevail?
An hundred rills, in shining mazes, flow
Through mossy grotto's amaranthine bow'rs, Howe'er that be; in Acidalian7 shade,
And form a laughing flood in Fale below:

Embracing Julia, Ovid melts the day: Where oft their limbs the Loves and Graces bay: No dreams of banishment his loves invade; (When Summer sheds insufferable day)

Encircled in eternity of May, And sport, and dive, and founce in wantonness of Here Petrarch with his Laura, soft reclin'd play.

On" violets, gives sorrow to the wind :

And Colin Clout pipes to the yielding Rosalind.
No noise o'ercomes the silence of the shades,
Save short-breath'd vows, the dear excess of joy; 5 An old word for asserting any thing.
Or harmless giggle of the youths and maids,

6 Spenser. Who yield obeysance to the Cyprian boy :

? These three celebrated poets and lovers were Or lute, soft-sighing in the passing gale;

all of them unhappy in their amours. Ovid was Or fountain gurgling down the sacred vale, banished on account of his passion for Julia. Or hymn to beauty's queen, or lover's tender Death deprived Petrarch of his beloved Laura tale,

very early; as he himself tells us in his account

of his own life. These are his words: “ Amore, Here Venus revels, here maintains her court acerrimo, sed unico & honesto, in adolescentia In light festivity and gladsome game:

laboravi, & diutius laborassem, nisi jam teposcenThe young and gay, in frolic troops resort, tem ignem mors acerba, sed utilis, extinxisset.” Withouten censure, and withouten blame.

See his works, Basil, fol. tom. 1. Yet others say, In pleasure steep'd, and dancing in delight,

she married another person; which is scarce Night steals upon the day, the day, on night: probable; since Petrarch lamented her death for Each knight his lady loves; each lady loves her ten years afterwards, as appears from Sonetto knight.

313, with a most uncommon ardoor of passion.

Thomasinus in his curious book, called Petrarcha Where lives the man (if such a man there be) Redivivus, has given us two prints of Laura, with In idle wilderness or desert drear,

an account of her family, their loves, and his. To Beauty's sacred pow'r an enemy?

sweet retirement in Vaucluse. As for Spenser, we Let foul fiends harrow 3 him; I'll drop no tear. may conclude that his love for Rosalinda prored I deen that carl4, by Beauty's pow'r unmov'd, unsuccessful from bis pathetical complaints, in Hated of Heav'n, of none but Hell approv'd. several of his poems, of her cruelty. The author, O may he never love, O never be belov'd!

therefore, thought it only a poetical kind of justice

to reward them in this imaginary retreat of lovers, 9 Vigour. 1 Ever. 2 Bathe. 3 Destroy.

for the misfortunes they really suffered here on 4 A clown.

account of their passion.

[ocr errors]

Pipe on, thou sweetest of th’ Arcadiap-train, In chaste endearments, innocently gay,
That e'er with tuneful breath inforın'd the quill : lantbe! now, nowo love thy Spring away;
Pipe on, of lovers the most loving swain !

Ere cold October-blasts despoil the bloom of May.
Of bliss and melody O take thy fill.
Ne envy 1, if dear lanthe smile,

Now up the chalky mazes of yon hill, Tho' low my numbers, and tho' rude my style; With grateful diligence, we wind our way; Ne quit for Acidale, fair Albion's happy isle. What op'ning scenes our ravish'd senses fill,

And, wide, their rural luxury display! (spires, Come then lantbe! milder than the Spring, Woods, dales, and flocks, and herds, and cots and And grateful as the rosy mouth of May,

Villas of learned clerks, and gentle squires; O come; the birds the hymn of Nature sing, The villa of a friend the eye-sight never tires. Enchanting-wild, from every bush and spray : Swell th' green gems and teem along the vine,

If e'er to thee and Venus, May, I strung A fragrant promise of the future wine,

The gladsome lyre, when livelood 8 swell’d my The spirits to exalt, the genius to refine!


And Eden's nymphs and Isis' damsels'sung Let us our steps direct where' father-Thames, In tender elegy, and pastoral-strains'; In silver windings draws his humid train, Collect and shed thyself on Theron's bowr's, And pours, where'er he rolls his naval-strcam, O green his gartens, O perfume his flow'rs, Pomp on the city, plenty o'er the plain.

O bless his morning-walks and sooth his ev'ningOr by the banks of Isis shall we stray,

hours. (Ah why so long from Isis banks away!). Where thousand damsels dance, and thousand Long, Theron, with thy Annabell enjoy shepherds play.

The walks of Nature, still to Virtue kind,

For sacred solitude can never cloy, Or choose you rather Theron's calm retreat,

The wisdorn of an uncorrupted mind! Embosom’d, Surry, in thy verdant vale,

O very long may Hymen's golden chain At once the Muses and the Grace's' seat!

To Earth confine you and the rural-reign; There gently listen to my faithful tale.

Then soar, at length, to Heaven ! nor pray, O Along the dew-bright parterres let us rove,

Muse, in vain. Or taste the odours of the mazy-grove:

love. Hark how the turtles coo: 1 languish too with Where'er the Muses haunt, or poets muse,

In solitary silence sweetly tird, Amid the pleasaunce of Arcadian scenes,

Unloose thy bosom, May! thy stores effuse, Love steals his silent arrows on my breast;

Thy vernal stores, by poets most desir'd, Nor falls of water, nor enamel'd greens,

of living fountain, of the wood-bind-shade, · Can soothe my anguish, or invite to rest.

Of Philomela, warbling from the glade. You, dear lanthe, you alone impart

Thy bounty, in his verse, shall certes be repaid. Balm to my wonnds, and cordial to my smart: The apple of my eye, the life-blood of my heart. On Twit'nam-bow'rs (Aonian Twit'nam bow'rs!)

Thy softest plenitude of beauties shed, With line of silk, with hook of barbed steel, Thick as the winter-stars, or summer-fow'rs; Beneath this oaken umbrage let us lay,

Albe the tuneful master (ah!) be dead. And from the water's crystal-bosom steal

To Colin next he taught my youth to sing, Upon the grassy bank the finny prey:

My reed to warble, to resound my string: The perch, with purple speckled manifold; The king of shepherds he, of poets he the king, The eel, in silver labyrinth self-rolld, And carp, all burnishid o'er with drops of scaly Hail, happy scenes, where Joy wou'd choose to gold.


Hail, golden days, which Saturn deems his own; Or shall the meads invite, with Iriş-hues

Hail, inusic, which the Muses scant excel; And Nature's pencil gay-diversify'd,

Hail, flow'reis, not unworthy Venus' crown. (For now the Sun has lick'd away the dews) Ye linnets, larks, ye thrushes, nightingales; Fair-flushing and bedeck'd like virgin-bride? Ye hills, ye plains, ye groves, ye streams, ye gales, Thither, (for they invite us) we'll repair,

Ye ever-happy scenes ! all you, your poet hails. Collect and weave (whate'er is sweet and fair) A posy for thy breast, a garland for thy hair. All-hail to thee, O May! the crown of all !

The recompense and glory of my song: Fair is the lily clad in balmy snow;

Ne small the recompense, ne glory small, Sireet is the rose, of Spring the smiling eye;

If gentle ladies, and the tuneful-throng, Nipt by the winds, their heads the lilies bow; With lover's myrtle, and with poet's bay Cropt by the land, the roses fade and die. Pairly bedight4, approve the simple lay, Tho' now in pride of youth and beauty drest,

And think on Thoinalio whene'er they hail thee, O think, lanthe, cruci Time lays waste

May! The roses of the check, the lilies of the breast.

8 Liveliness. Weep not; but, rather taught by this, improve 9 Stella; sive Amores: Elegiarum Tres Libri.

The present freshness of thy springing prime: Written in the year 1736.
Bestow thy graces on the god of love,

' Six pastorals: written in the year 1734. Too precious for the wither'd arms of Time.

* Altho' 3 Scarcely. 4 Adorneda

And hollow wailings, through the damps of night, THE NEW LYRE,

Responsive wound the ear. The sprightly pow'rs

Of musical enchantment wave their wings,

And seek the fragrant groves and purple fields, I STRUNG my lyre, when Love appear'd,

Where Pleasure rolls her honey-trickling streams, Demanding a light-wanton lay:

Of blooming Health and laughter-dimpled Joy. “ (hrist!” 1 began-the trifier heard,

Me other scenes than laughing Joy, and Health And shook his wings, and pass'd away.

High-blooming, purple-living fields and groves,

Fragrant with Spring, invite. Too long the Muse, The strings rebellious to my haud

Ah! much too long, a libertine diffus'd Refuse to charm: in vain 1 sue,

On Pleasure's rosy lap, has, idly, breath'd The strings are mute to my demand

Love-sighing elegies, and pastoral-strains, I broke the old, and form’d a new.

The soft seducers of our youthful hours,

Soothing away the vigour of the mind, " Christ!" I began : the sacred lyre

And energy of virtue. But farewel, Responsive swell'd with notes diving,

Ye myrtle walks, ye lily-mantled meads, And warm'd me with seraphic-fire:

Of Paphos, and the fount of Acidale, Sweet Jesus, I am only thine!

Where, oft, in summer, Grecian fables tell,

The daughters of Eurynome and Jove, O wake to life this springing grace,

Thalia and her sister-Graces cool And water with thy heavenly dew:

Their glowing features, at the noontide hour, Display the glories of thy face,

Farewel!-But come, Urania, from thy bow'rs My spirit and my heart renew!

Of everlasting day; O condescend

To lead thy votary (with rapt'rous zeal Direct my soul, direct my hand:

Adoring Nature's God, the great Three-One!) O blessed change! thy pow'r I feel :

To Salem; where the shepherd-monarch wak'd My numbers flow at thy command,

The sacred breath of melody, and swellid My strings with holy raptures swell.

His harp, to angels' kindred notes attun'd,

With music worthy Heaven! O bathe my breast, And, you, whose pious pains unfold

With praises burning, in the morning-dews, Those truths, receive this tribute due;

Which sparkle, Sion, on thy holy hill. You once endur'd my Muse of old,

The prophets, eagle-ey'd, celestial maid,
Nor scorn the firstfruits of the new.

Those poets of the sky! were taught to chant
The glories of Messiah's reign by thee:
Kindled by thee, the eastern-pages flame

With lightning, and with thunder shake the soul;

While, from the whirlwind, God's all-glorious

Bursts on the tingling ears of Job: the writ (voice IN FIVE BOOKS.

Of Moses, meek in spirit, but his thoughts

Lofty as Heav'n's blue arch. My humble hopes BOOK I.

Aspire but to the alpha of his song; The Lord comfort him, when he lieth sick upon Where, roll'd in ashes, digging for a grave, his bed; make thou all his bed in his sickness.

More earnest than the covetous for gold

Or hidden treasures crusted o'er with boils,

And roaring in the bitterness of soul,

And heart-sick pain, the man of Uz complains,

Themes correspondent to thy servant's theine. Subject proposed. The folly of employing poetry on wanton or trifling subjects. Invocation of

I sing to you, ye sons of men ! of dust, Urania. Reflections on the instability of life Say rather: what is man, who proudly 'lifts

His brow audacious, as confronting Heav'n, itself: frailness of youth, beauty, and health. The suddenness and first attacks of a distemper, But moulded clay? an animated heap

And tramples, with disdain, his mother Earth, in particular of the small pox. Moral and re

Of dust, that shortly shall to dust return? ligious observations resulting froin sickness.

We dream of shadows, when we talk of life, Of Pelops' shoulder, of Pythagoras' thigh,

Of Surius's saints, and Orid's gods; Op days with pain acquainted, and of nights Mere tales to cheat our children with to rest; Unconscious of the healing balms of sleep, And, when the tale is told, they sink to sleep, That burn in restless agonies away;

Death's image! so inane is mortal-man! Of Sickness, and its family of woes,

Man's but a vapour, toss'd by every wind, The fellest enemies of life, I sing,

'The child of smoke, which in a moment flics, Horizon'd close in darkness. While I touch And, sinking into nothing, disappears. The ebon-instrument, of solemn tone,

Man's a brisk bubble floating on the waves Pluckt from the cypress' melancholy boughs, Of wide eternity: he dances now Which, deep'ning, shade the house of mourning, Gay-gilded by the Sun (tho' einpty proud;) groans

Phantastically fine! and now he drops

In a broad sheet of waters deep involved · He lent me a MS. discourse on these words And gives his place to others. O, ye sons “ Old things are passed away, and lo! all things Of vanity, remember, and be wise ! are become next.”

Man is a flow'r, which in the morning, fair

As day-spring, swelling from its slender stem, And hate of being.-Poor lanthe wept
In virgin-modesty, and sweet reserve,

In bitterness, and took me by the hand
Lays out its blushing beauties to the day, Compassionately kind: “ Alas!" she cry'd,
As Gideon's fleece, full with the dews of Heav'n. “ What sudden change is this?” (Again she wept.)
But if some ruder gale, or nipping wind,

Say, can Ianthe prove the source of pain Disastrous, blow too hard, it, weeping, mourns To Thomalin? forbid it, gracious Heav'n!" In robes of darkness; it reclincs its head

No, beauteous innocence! as soon the rose In languid softness; withers every grace;

Shall poison with its balm; as soon the dove And ere the ev'ning-star the west inflames, Become a white dissembler, and the stream It falls into the portion of those weeds

With lulling murmurs, creeping thro' the grove, Which, with a careless hand, we cast away Offend the shepherd's slumber"-Scarce my tongue Ye thoughtless fair-ones, moralize my song! These fault'ring accents stammer'd, down I sink,

Thy pulse beats music; thou art high in health; And a lethargic stupor steeps my sense
The rather tremble. When the least we fear, In dull oblivion: till returning pain,
When Folly lulls us on her couch of down, Too faithful monitor! and dire disease
And wine and lutes and odours fill the sense Bid me remember, pleasure is a dream,
With their soft affluence of bewitching joys; That bealth has eagle's wings, nor tarries long.
When years of rapture in thy fancy glow

New horrours rise. For in my pricking veins To entertain thy youth; a sudden burst

I feel the forky flame: the rapid flood
Of thunder from the smallest cloud of Fate, Of throbbing life, excursive from the laws
Small as the prophet's hand, de ys, confounds, Of sober Nature and harmonious Health,
And lays thy visionary hopes in dust.

Boils in tumultuary eddies round
By my example taught, examples teach

Its bursting channels. Parching thirst, anon, Much more than precepts, learn to know thy end. Drinks up the vital maze, as Simois dry,

The day was Valentine's: when lovers' wounds Or Xanthus, by the arm-ignipotent, Afresh begin to bleed, and sighs to warm

With a red torrent of involving dames The chilly rigour of relenting skies :

Exhausted; when Achilles with their floods Sacred the day to innocence and mirth,

Wag'd more than mortal war: the god of fire The festival of youth! in seeming health

Wide o'er the waters pour'd th' inundant blaze, (As custom bids) I hail'd the year's fair morn, The shrinking waters to the bottom boil And with its earliest purple braid my brows, And hiss in ruin. O! ye rivers, roll The violet, or primrose, breathing sweets Your cooling crystal o'er my burning breast, New to the sense. lanthe by my side,

For Ætna rages here! ye snows descend; More lovely than the season! rais'd her voice, Bind me in icy chains, ye northern winds, Observant of his rites, in festal lays,

And mitigate the furies of the fire ! And thus addrest the patron of the Spring :

Good Heav'n! what hoards of unrepented guilt “ Hail, Valentine! at thy approach benign, Have drawn this vengeance down, have rais'd this Profuse of gems, the bosomn of the Earth To lash me with bis iames? But, 0), forgive (fiend Her fragraut stores unfolds: the fields rejoice, My rashness, that dares blame thy just decrees. And, in the infancy of plenty, smile :

It is thy rod: I kiss it with my hart,
The valleys laugh and sing: the woods, alive, As well as lips: like Aaron's may it bloom
Sprout into floating verdure, to embow'r.

With fruits of goodness: not, like Moses, turn Those happy lovers, who record thy praise. A serpent; or, to tempt me to accuse

“ Hail, Valentine ! at thy approach benign, The kind oppression of thy righteous hand, Inhaling genial raptures from the Sun,

Or, sting me to despair.- Affiction, hail! The plumy nations swell the song of joy,

Thou school of virtue! open wide thy gates, Thy soaring choiristers! the lark, the thrush, Thy gates of ebony! Yet, O, correct And all th' aerial people, from the wren

Thy servant, but with judgment, not in wrath, And linnet to the eagle, feel the stings

But with thy mercy, Lord! thy stripes will heal, Of amorous delight, and sing thy praise.

Thus without heresy, afflictions prove
“ Hail, Valentine! at thy approach benign, A purgatory; save us as by fire:
Quick o'er the softning soul the gentle gales And purifying off the dross of sin,
Of Spring, awaking bliss, instinctive move Like old Elijah's chariot, rap the soul,
The ardent youth to breathe the sighs of faith On wings of Meditation, to the skies.
Into the virgin's heart; who, sick of love,

In health we have no time to visit Truth: With equal fires, and purity of truth,

Health's the disease of morals: few in health Consenting, blushes while she chants thy praise." Turn o'er the volumes which will make us wise, So sung lanthe: to my heart I prest

What are ye, now, ye tuneful triflers ! once Her spotless sweetness: when, (with wonder, hear!) The eager solace of my easy hours, Thu' she shone smiling by, the torpid pow'rs Ye dear deluders or of Greece or Rome, Of heaviness weigh'd down my beamless eyes, Anacreon, Horace, Virgil, Homer, what? And press'd them into night. The dews of death | The gay, the bright, the sober, the sublime ? Hung, clammy, on my forehead, like the damps And ye of softer strain, ye amorous fools, Of midnight sepulchres; which, silent, op'd Correctly indolent, and sweetly vain, By weeping widows, or by friendship's hand, Tibullus, Ovid, and the female-verse Yawn bideous on the Moon, and blast the stars Of her, who, plunging from Leucadia's heights, With pestilential reek. My head is torn Extinguish'd, with her life, her hopeless fires, With pangs insufferable, pulsive starts,

Or rose a swan, as love-struck Pancy deem'd. And pungent aches, gliding thro' the brain, Who wou'd not, in these hours of wisdom, give To madness hurrying the tormented sense, A Vatican of wits for one saint Paul

« ZurückWeiter »