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IMITATION OF SPENSER.
Now morning from her orient chamber came
Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
And all around it dipp'd luxuriously
Which, as it were in gentle amity,
In strife to throw upon the sliore a gem
WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;
Without that modest softening that enhances
E’en then, elate, my spirit leaps and prances,
E’en then my soul with exultation dances
Heavens! how desperately do I adore
I hotly burn- to be a Calidore-
Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.
Lignt feet, dark violet eves, and parted hair ;
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast;
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest
To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd
They be of what is worthy,--though not drest,
These lures I straigiit forget,-e'en ere I dine,
Or thrice my palate moisten : but when I mark
Such charms with mild intelligences shine, My ear is open like a greedy shark,
To catch the tunings of a voice divine.
Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being ?
Who can forget lier half-retiring sweets?
God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing,
Will never give him pinions, who intreats Such innocence to ruin,—who vilely cheats A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear
A lay that once I saw her hand awake, Her form seems floating palpable, and near:
Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear,
And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
In some melodious plot
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
2. O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country-green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sun-burnt mirth!
And purple-stained mouth;
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thiou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret
llere, where men sit and hear each other groan;
And Icaden-eyed despairs;
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacclius and his pards,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :
But here there is no light,
Through verdurousglooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endow's
And mid-May's eldest child,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
In such an ecstasy!
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird !
No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown :
The same that oft-times hath
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toli me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades