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Such was th' effect of twilight's hour
On the fair groups that, round and round, From glade to grot, from bank to bow'r,
Now wander'd through this fairy ground; And thus did Fancy-and champagne
Work on the sight their dazzling spells, Till nymphs that look'd, at noonday, plain,
Now brighten'd, in the gloom, to belles ; And the brief interval of time,
"Twixt after dinner and before, To dowagers brought back their prime,
And shed a halo round two-score.
A reward by some king was once offer'd, we're told,
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind; But talk of new pleasures !--give me but the old, And I'll leave your inventors all new ones they
find. Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss,
Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day, Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this,
And such eyes as we've here be the stars of my
Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye,
The ear, the fancy, quick succeed ; And now along the waters fly
Light gondoles, of Venetian breed, With knights and dames, who, calm reclined,
Lisp out love-sonnets as they glideAstonishing old Thames to find
Such doings on his mortal tide.
In the mean time, a bumper—your Angels, on high, May have pleasures unknown to life's limited
span; But, as we are not Angels, why—let the flask fly
We must only be happy all ways that we can.
So bright was still that tranquil river,
A band of mariners, from th' isles
Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, As smooth they floated, to the play Of their oar's cadence, sung this lay:
Now nearly fled was sunsets light,
Leaving but so much of its beam As gavo to objects, late so bright,
The coloring of a shadowy dream ; And there was still whero Day had set
A flush that spoke him loath to die
Binding together earth and sky.
Can bring out grace, unfelt before,
When seen but half enchant the more ?
A creature most ideal grows;
Like that Imagination throws;-
Ev'n from a bright reality,
Far hear'nlier things than e'er will be.
Our home is on the sea, boy,
When Nature gave
The island bark
Is Freedom's ark,
Behold yon sea of isles, boy,
Where ev'ry shore
Is sparkling o'er With Beauty's richest smiles. For us hath Freedom claim'd, boy, For us hath Freedom claim'd
Where Valor rests
And shall the Moslem dare, boy, And shall the Moslem dare,
While Grecian hand
Can wield a brand, To plant his Crescent there? No_by our fathers, no, boy, No, by the Cross we show
From Maina's rills
To Thracia's hills
(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds
Quadrille performs her mazy rites,
As, with a foot that ne'er reposes,
From “ Maid and Magpie” up to “Moses;"! — Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes,
Till fagg’a Rossini scarce respires ; Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues,
And Weber at her feet expires.
Like pleasant thoughts that o'er the mind
A minute come, and go again, Evn so, by snatches, in the wind,
Was caught and lost that choral strain, Now full, now faint upon the ear, As the bark floated far or near. At length when, lost, the closing noto
Had down the waters died along, Forth from another fairy boat,
Freighted with music, came this song :
And now the set hath ceased the bows
Arm witmin arm, the couples stray,
Till—nothing's left, at last, to say. When, lo!-most opportunely sent
Two Exquisites, a he and she, Just brought from Dandyland, and meant
For Fashion's grand Menagerie, Enter'd the room—and scarce were there When all flock'd round them, glad to staro At any monsters, any where.
SMOOTHLY flowing through verdant vales,
Gentle river, thy current runs, Shelter'd safe from winter gales,
Shaded cool from summer suns. Thus ow Youth's sweet moments glide,
Fenced with flow'ry shelter round; No rude tempest wakes the tide,
All its path is fairy ground.
Some thought them perfect, to their tastes ;
The isthmus there should be so small,
Must manage not to breathe at all. The female (these same critics said,)
Though orthodox from toe to chin, Yet lack'd that spacious width of head
To hat of toadstool much akinThat build of bonnet, whose extent Should, like a doctrine of dissent,
Puzzle church-doors to let it in.
But, fair river, the day will come,
When, woo'd by whisp'ring groves in vain, Thou'lt leave those banks, thy shaded home,
To mingle with the stormy main.
Into the world's unshelter'd sea,
All hope of peace is lost for thee.
However-sad as 'twas, no doubt,
Next turn we to the gay saloon
Where, 'neath a pendent wreath of lights, A Zodiac of flowers and tapers
1 In England the partition of this opera of Rossini was transferred to the story of Peter the Hermit; by which means the indecorum of giving such names as “Moise," " Pharaon,"
&c. to the dances selected from it (as was done in Paris) has been avoided.
I now have given (excuse the pun)
Oh! ah! &c.
To know what rank (if rank at all)
What if, by fond remembrance led
Again to wear our mutual chain,
Oh! ah ! &c.
But mild the vent such beings seek,
Though he the Noodle honors give,
And thine, dear youth, are not so high,
Oh! ah . &c.
Long as I waltz’d with only thee,
Each blissful Wednesday that went by, Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee Adorn'd a youth so blest as I.
Oh! ah! ah ! oh!
While thus, like motes that dance away
That they should live, on the alert toe, A life of ups-and-downs, like keys
Of Broadwood's in a long concerto :-) While thus the fiddle's spell, within,
Calls up its realm of restless sprites, Without, as if some Mandarin
Were holding there his Feast of Lights, Lamps of all hues, from walks and bowers, Broko on the eye, like kindling flowers, Till, budding into light, each treo Bore its full fruit of brilliancy.
Long as with thee I skimm'd the ground
Nor yet was scorn'd for Lady Jane,
Oh ! ah ! &c.
Here shone a garden-lamps all o'er,
As though the Spirits of the Air Had tak'n it in their heads to pour
A shower of summer meteors there;While here a lighted shrubb'ry led
To a small lake that sleeping lay, Cradled in foliage, but, o'erhead,
Open to heaven's sweet breath and ray; While round its rim thero burning stood
Lamps, with young flowers beside them bedded, That shrunk from such warm neighborhood ; And, looking bashful in the food,
Blush'd to behold themselves so wedded.
To Lord Fitznoodle's eldest son,
A youth renown'd for waistcoats smart,
1 It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that this Duet is a parody of the often-translated and parodied ode of Horace, “Donec gratus eram tibi," &c.
Hither, to this embower'd retreat, Fit but for nights so still and sweet;
Nights, such as Eden's calm recall
So silent is, below, on high,
That if a star falls down the sky, You almost think you hear it fall Hither, to this recess, a few,
To shun the dancers' wild'ring noise, And give an hour, ere night-time flew,
To Music's more ethereal joys,
Forms, such as up the wooded creeks
Of Helle's shore at noonday glide, Or, nightly, on her glist ning sea, Woo the bright waves with melody, Now link'd their triple league again Of voices sweet, and sung a strain, Such as, had Sappho's tuneful ear
But caught it, on the fatal steep, She would have paused, entranced, to hear,
And, for that day, deferr'd her leap.
SONG AND TRIO.
And, first, a dark-eyed nymph, array'd—
Da Vinci's Beauties—the dark eyes, Now lucid, as through crystal trembling,
Now sost, as if suffused with sighs— Her lute, that hung beside her, took, And, bending o'er it with shy look, More beautiful, in shadow thus, Than when with life most luminous, Pass'd her light finger o'er the chords, And sung to them these mournful words :
On one of those sweet nights that oft
Their lustre o'er th' Ægean fling, Beneath my casement, low and soft,
I heard a Lesbian lover sing ;
“ Oh, happy as the gods is he,
The song was one by Sappho sung,
In the first love-dreams of her lyre, When words of passion from her tongue
Fell like a shower of living fire. And still, at close of ev'ry strain, I heard these burning words again“Oh, happy as the gods is he, “ Who listens at this hour to thee!"
Bring hither, bring thy lute, while day is dying
Here will I lay me, and list to thy song; Should tones of other days inix with its sighing,
Tones of a light heart, now banish'd so long,
Sing on, thou mournful lute—day is fast going,
Soon will its light from thy chords die away ; One little gleam in the west is still glowing,
When that hath vanish'd, farewell to thy lay. Mark, how it fades see, it is fled ! Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dead.
Once more to Mona Lisa turn'd
Each asking eye-nor turn'd in vain ; Though the quick, transient blush that burn'd
Bright o'er her cheek, and died again,
Did she her lute-song now devote;
Of southern sunshine, seem'd to float
So rich with climate was each note-
group, that late, in garb of Greeks, Sung their light chorus o'er the tideThe celebrated portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, which he is said to have occupied four years in painting.–Vasari, vol. vii.
Oh, where art thou dreaming,
On land, or on sea ?
In my lattice is gleaming
The watch-light for theo ; And this fond heart is glowing
To welcome thee home, And the night is fast going, But thou art not come:
No, thou com'st not!
Gay caps we here of foolscap make,
For bards to wear in dog-day weather ; Or bards the bells alone may take,
And leave to wits the cap and feather Tetotums we've for patriots got,
Who court the mob with antics humble ; Like theirs the patriot’s dizzy lot, A glorious spin, and then—a tumble.
Who'll buy, &c., &c.
'Tis the time when night-flowers
Should wake from their rest; "Tis the hour of all hours,
When the lute singeth best. But the flowers are half sleeping
Till thy glance they see ! And the hush'd lure is keeping Its music for thee.
Yet, thou com'st not !
Here, wealthy misers to inter,
We've shrouds of neat post-obit paper ; While, for their heirs, we've quicksilver,
That, fast as they can wish, will caper.
That tell no hour but that of dinner;
Who'll buy, &c., &c
Scarce had the last word left her lip,
And from his lofty cap, where shone A peacock's plume, there dangled bells
That rung as he came dancing on
While thus the blissful moments rollid,
Moments of rare and feeting light, That show themselves, like grains of gold
In the mine's refuse, few and bright; Behoid where, opening far away,
The long Conservatory's range, Stripp'd of the flowers it wore all day,
But gaining lovelier in exchange, Presents, on Dresden's costliest ware, A supper, such as Gods might share.