Oh! for the boat the angel gave These are the sprites, O radiant queen! Thy planet's brightening balm to shed; Which had been oh! too dear before! When cups are flowing to the brim, No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring; Do not disturb their tranquil dream; Though love hath ne'er the mystery warmed, Yet Heaven will shed a soothing beam, To bliss the bond itself hath formed. But then, that eye, that burning eye! Oh! it doth ask, with magic power, If Heaven can ever bless the tie Where love inwreathes no genial flower! Away, away, bewildering look! Or all the boast of virtue's o'er; Go-hie thee to the sage's book, And learn from him to feel no more! I cannot warn thee; every touch, That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as much, Oh! quite as much, as thou dost mine! Yet stay, dear love-one effort yet- The light that leads my soul astray ! Thou sayest that we were born to meet, Can seem to sigh and feign to feel! When o'er thy face some gleam of thought The sympathy I then betrayed Perhaps was but the child of art; Oh! thou hast not my virgin vow; With Loveless heart or scuses cold? No-many a throb of bliss and pain The cheek to thine I fondly lay To them have been as warmly said. Then, scorn at once a languid heart Which long hath lost its early spring; Enough-now, turn thine eyes again; While thus to mine thy bosom lies, While thus our breaths commingling grow, "Twere more than woman to be wise, "I were more than man to wish thee so! Did we not love so true, so dear, ΤΟ ON SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND A RICH GIRDLE Μαργαριται δηλουσι δακρυων ῥοον. Ap. Nicephor. in Oneirocritice. PUT off the vestal veil, nor oh! Put off the fatal zone you wear; Are tears that fell from Virtue there, THE RESEMBLANCE. - vo cercand' io Donna, quant' e possibile, in altrui Petrarc, Sonett. YES, if 'twere any common love But 'twas my doom to err with one That oh beneath the blessed sun So fair there are but thou and she! Whate'er may be her angel birth, She was thy lovely, perfect twin, And wore the only shape on earth, That could have charmed my soul to sin! And when, with all thy murmuring tone, They sued half-open to be kissed, I could as soon resist thine own, And them, Heaven knows, I ne'er resist. Then scorn me not, though false I be, 'Twas love that waked the dear excess; My heart had been more true to thee, Had mine eye prized thy beauty less! ΤΟ WHEN I loved you, I can't but allow And oh! 'tis delicious to hate you! FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER. FILL high the cup with liquid flame, Give me the wreath that withers there; It was but last delicious night It hung upon her wavy hair, And caught her eyes' reflected light! Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow; It breathes of Heliodora now! The loving rosebud drops a tear LINES, WRITTEN IN A STORM AT SEA. THAT sky of clouds is not the sky The swell of yonder foaming billow That rapture moves. Yet do I feel more tranquil far Than when, in transport's young emotion, Oh! there's a holy calm profound 'Tis as a solemn voice from heaven, 'Tis true, it talks of danger nigh, Where pleasure's throb or tears of sorrow Well!-there are some, thou stormy bed, Whose lip hath drained life's cup of pleasure. Round misery's brim. Yes he can smile serene at death: Kind Heaven! do Thou but chase the weeping Tell them that he lies calmly sleeping ODES TO NEA. WRITTEN AT BERMUDA. Nea Tupavvel.-Eurip. Medea, v. 967. NAY, tempt me not to love again. There was a time when love was sweet; Dear Nea! had I known thee then, Our souls had not been slow to meet ! But oh! this weary heart hath run, So many a time, the rounds of pain, Would I endure such pangs again. |