DREAMS. How many rise impatient with the dawn Yet chasing still th' illusion! slaves to Hope On the blue calm of ether, sheds abroad A new existence, scenes of fairy land, Limbs wing'd with thought and pulses throbbing joy. The lover-no! reality itself Scarce equals that dear moment, when he grasps Within his trembling pressure: when his eyes Drink in the lucid languishment of look That thrills the shivering nerves; the mystic glance And kindling hope to madness. Rise not yet So sweet a moment: never, though he clasp At Fancy's bidding, and the leaning cheek, The lip's warm fragrance and the whisper low, Mingled the zest of mystery with bliss, The tumult of amazement ! Now the soul Works subtle sorcery: oceans interposed Shrink, and are dry: the friend, whom tented fields Had sever'd from thee, sits beside thee now, As in time past: the self-same oak above And sweet it is with limbs in the green shade That gliding with that babbling rivulet's haste In scenes like these? then seek the garish day, THE ACACIA. PARAPHRASEd from vigée. (This tree was planted in one of the courts of the prison of Port Libre. The original ode was written during the reign of terror in France.) FAIR plant, that impending with tremulous boughs Dost shed wide beneath thee a tutelar shade Whose leaves whisper sweet to the love-breathing vows, And veil with their twilight the blush of the maid: Oh blest is thy lot! when the mantle of night With sable invests the blue glare of the skies; Thy verdure-bound root is the throne of delight, And love to thy arborous canopy flies. By thee, favour'd plant! in mute witness are seen The hand that soft trembles when tremblingly prest; And innocence bashful with languishing mien, And still unresenting, still sweetly distrest: And the lip that in modest embarrassment steals And the tender confusion that rapturous feels The kiss which reserve had forgot to deny. In the moon shine that hovering fell white o'er the shade, Avowals that falter'd in eloquent fear; Those words half-suspended, those murmurs of soul, And the mutual dependence of blissful relief Mingled love unawares with the tumult of thought. Oh fair mayst thou flourish! oh never to fade The bower which thy branch thus luxuriantly weaves; Though winter's cold eye freeze thy desolate shade, May the vernal sun smile on thy blossomy leaves. |