The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; "Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep The high wind made the treble; and, as bass, And on the smallè greenè twistis sat among, 3 But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet, loud musick, out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that, at midnight, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord! what musick hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such musick on earth." When she, I sought, the nightingale replied: I stood intranced, and had no power for thought, 1 Byron. 3 Promiscuously. 5 Isaac Walton, 8. (Ed. 6.). But, all o'erpowered with ecstasy of bliss, Some hid amongst the leaves, Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves, Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun, Through thick exhaled fogs, his golden head hath run, And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps, To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps.2 Matta leur demanda que diable ils vouloient faire de musique, et soutint que cela n'étoit bon, dans ces occasions, que pour des femmes qui avoient quelque chose à dire à leurs amans pendant que les violons étourdissoient les autres, ou pour des sots qui ne savoient que dire quand les violons ne jouoient pas.3 Oft had he changed his weary side, The expected future with the past.* 4 Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, I have no power to love him : His proud, forbidding eye, and his dark brow Chill me like dew-damps of the unwholesome night; 1 Dryden (Flower and the Leaf). 2 Michael Drayton, Poly-Olbion, s. 23. 3 Grammont, 45. 4 Rokeby. 5 Henry VI. My love, a timorous and tender flower, How sad she looked, and pale, but not like guilt; If the bad spirit retained his angel's voice mercy Tones so sweet, and of such soft cadence Did'st thou but know how pale I sat at home, 1 Coleridge (Remorse). 2 Ibid. 3 Impey's Translation of Vernon's Oxford Prize PoemSolum.' "Natale Tho' now this grained face of mine be hid A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, Was this a face To be expos'd against the warring winds? Of quick, cross lightning!-to watch poor Perdue 'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear Of tempests and the dangers of the deep, Then listen to the pleasing tale again, And, with an eager and attentive ear, Of genius-that power which constitutes a poet 1 Comedy of Errors. 3 King Lear. 2 Ibid. that quality, without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates.1 Because they know the world, and are at ease, 2 I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, That not a single accent seems uncouth, Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural, Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all. 3 The antler'd monarch of the waste Sprang from his heathery couch in haste; The dew-drops from his flank he shook; A moment listen'd to the cry, That thicken'd, as the chase drew nigh: With one brave bound, the copse he clear'd; Was heard the passing bell to toll, For welfare of a parting soul; 1 Johnson (Life of Pope). 3 lbid. 2 Beppo. 4 Scott (Lady of the Lake). |