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With all my soul, then, let us part,
Since both are anxious to be free; And I will send you home your heart,
If you will send back mine to me.
But when, alas, I turn'd the theme,
And when of vows and oaths I spoke, Of truth and hope's seducing dream
The chord beneath my finger broke. False harp! false woman! — such, oh, such
Are lutes too frail and hearts too willing; Any hand, whate'er its touch,
Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. And when that thrill is most awake,
And when you think Heav'n's joys await you, The nymph will change, the chord will break —
Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you!
We've had some happy hours together,
But joy must often change its wing ; And spring would be but gloomy weather,
If we had nothing else but spring.
'Tis not that I expect to find
A more devoted, fond, and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mind
Enough for me that she's a new one.
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore,
To hymn the fading fires of day ; No more to Tempé’s distant vale
In holy musings shall we roam, Through summer's glow and winter's gale,
To bear the mystic chaplets home.! 'Twas then my soul's expanding zeal,
By nature warm'd and led by thee,
The breathings of a Deity.
Thy looks, thy words are still my own-
Some laurel, by the winds o'erthrown, And hear thee say, " This humble bough
* Was planted for a doom divine ; “ And, though it droop in languor now,
“Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine ! Thus, in the vale of earthly sense,
“ Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, " A viewless hand shall cull it thence,
* To bloom immortal in the skies !”
Our hearts, my love, were form’d to be
They live with one sensation :
And thrill with like vibration.
How oft I've heard thee fondly say,
When mine no more is moving ;
So twinn'd are we in loving !
On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,
And chilly was the midnight gloom,
Fond maid ! it was her Lindor's tomb !
A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air
Congeal'd it as it flow'd away :
At morn it glitter'd in the ray.
All that the young should feel and know,
By thee was taught so sweetly well, Thy words fell soft as vernal snow,
And all was brightness where they fell !
Fond sharer of my infant joy,
Am I not still thy soul's employ?
When, meeting on the sacred mount, Our nymphs awak'd their choral lays,
And danc'd around Cassotis' fount ; As then, 'twas all thy wish and care,
That mine should be the simplest mien, My lyre and voice the sweetest there,
My foot the lightest o'er the green : So still, each look and step to mould,
Thy guardian care is round me spread, Arranging every snowy fold,
And guiding every mazy tread. And, when I lead the hymning choir,
Thy spirit still, unseen and free,
And weds them into harmony.
Shall never drop its silv'ry tear
To memory so entirely dear!
An angel, wand'ring from her sphere,
Who saw this bright, this frozen gem,
And hung it on her diadem !
My love and I, the other day,
“ See," said the maid with thoughtful eyes —
* The laurel, for the common uses of the temple, for adorn. the temple was originally constructed ; and Plutarch says, in ing the altars and sweeping the pavement, was supplied by a his Dialogue on Music, * The youth who brings the Tempic tree near the fountain of Castalia ; but upon all important laurel to Delphi is always attended by a player on the flute." occasions, they sent to Tempé for their laurel. We find, in Αλλα μην και τον κατακομιζοντι παιδι την Τεμπικης δαφνην εις Pausanias, that this valley supplied the branches, of which Axaçeus Tagorisegtie ceva nous.
Never did grave remark occur Less à-propos than this from her.
LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum.
SECUNDUS, eleg. vii.
I rose to kill the snake, but she,
Her eyes spoke volumes, while she said it• Long as the snake is in the grass,
“ One may, perhaps, have cause to dread it : “ But, when its wicked eyes appear,
“And when we know for what they wink so, “ One must be very simple, dear,
“ To let it wound one — don't you think so ?”
STILL the question I must parry,
Still a wayward truant prove : Where I love, I must not marry ;
Where I marry, cannot love.
Were she fairest of creation,
With the least presuming mind ; Learned without affectation ;
Not deceitful, yet refin'd; Wise enough, but never rigid ;
Gay, but not too lightly free ; Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid;
Fond, yet satisfied with me:
Is the song of Rosa mute ?
Were she all this ten times over,
All that heav'n to earth allows, I should be too much her lover
Ever to become her spouse.
Love will never bear enslaving ;
Summer garments suit him best ; Bliss itself is not worth having,
If we're by compulsion blest.
Is my Rosa's lute unstrung ? Once a tale of peace it sung To her lover's throbbing breast Then was he divinely blest ! Ah ! but Rosa loves no more, Therefore Rosa's song is o'er ; And her lute neglected lies ; And her boy forgotten sighs. Silent lute - forgotten lover Rosa's love and song are over !
I FILL'D to thee, to thee I drank,
I nothing did but drink and fill ; The bowl by turns was bright and blank,
'Twas drinking, filling, drinking still. At length I bid an artist paint
Thy image in this ample cup, That I might see the dimpled saint,
To whom I quaff’d my nectar up. Behold, how bright that purple lip
Now blushes through the wave at me ; Every roseate drop I sip
Is just like kissing wine from thee.
Sic juvat perire.
WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep,
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie ! How sweet is death to those who weep,
To those who weep and long to die !
Saw you the soft and grassy bed,
Where flow'rets deck the green earth's breast? 'Tis there I wish to lay my head,
'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest.
And still I drink the more for this;
For, ever when the draught I drain, Thy lip invites another kiss,
And — in the nectar flows again.
Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb,
None but the dews at twilight given ! Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom,
None but the whisp’ring winds of heaven !
So, here's to thee, my gentle dear,
And may that eyelid never shine Beneath a darker, bitterer tear
Than bathes it in this bowl of mine !
CHLORIS, I swear, by all I ever swore,
What ! love do more? Oh! why this alter'd vow?" Because I cannot love thee more — than now !
And if her cheek be smooth and bright,
While truth within her bosom lies, I'll gaze upon her morn and night,
Till my heart leave me through my eyes. Show me on earth a thing so rare,
I'll own all miracles are true ;
Oh, 'tis the utmost Heav'n can do!
TO MISS ......, ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD
Che con le lor bugie pajon divini. Mauro d' Arcano.
I'LL ask the sylph who round thee flies,
And in thy breath his pinion dips, Who suns him in thy radiant eyes,
And faints upon thy sighing lips :
I'll ask him where's the veil of sleep
That usd to shade thy looks of light; And why those eyes their vigil keep,
When other suns are sunk in night?
And I will say — her angel breast
Has never throbb’d with guilty sting ; Her bosom is the sweetest nest
Where Slumber could repose his wing !
And I will say – her cheeks that flush,
Like vernal roses in the sun, Have ne'er by shame been taught to blush,
Except for what her eyes have done !
I do confess, in many a sigh,
Nay,--look not thus, with brow reproving;
And now, my gentle hints to clear,
Then tell me, why, thou child of air!
Does slumber from her eyelids rove ? What is her heart's impassion'd care ?
Perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps, 'tis love.
COME, tell me where the maid is found,
Whose heart can love without deceit, And I will range the world around,
To sigh one moment at her feet.
Oh! tell me where's her sainted home,
What air receives her blessed sigh, A pilgrimage of years I'll roam
To catch one sparkle of her eye !
FRIEND of my soul, this goblet sip,
"Twill chase that pensive tear;
THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS I
TO A LAMP
WHICH HAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAIS.
Dulcis conscia lectuli lucerna.
MARTIAL., lib. xiv. epig. 39.
And often, as she smiling said,
In fancy's hour, thy gentle rays
Through poesy's enchanting maze.
Where still we catch the Chian's breath,
Where still the bard, though cold in death,
Oh man of Ascra's dreary glades!
A wand of inspiration gave,
The crystal of Castalia's wave.
“ On! love the Lamp" (my Mistress said),
“ The faithful Lamp that, many a night, “ Beside thy Lais' lonely bed
“ Has kept its little watch of light.
Then, turning to a purer lore,
It does not appear to have been very difficult to become as he who anticipated Newton in developing the arrangement a philosopher amongst the ancients. A moderate store of of the universe. learning, with a considerable portion of confidence, and just For this opinion of Xenophanes, see Plutarch. de Placit. wit enough to produce an occasional apophthegm, seem to Philosoph. lib. ii. cap. 13. It is impossible to read this have been all the qualifications necessary for the purpose. treatise of Plutarch, without alternately admiring the genius, The principles of moral science were so very imperfectly under- and smiling at the absurdities of the philosophers. stood that the founder of a new sect, in forming his ethical
2 The ancients had their lucernæ cubiculariæ or bed. code, might consult either fancy or temperament, and adapt chamber lamps, which, as the emperor Galienus said, nil it to his own passions and propensities ; so that Mahomet, cras meminere ;” and, with the same commendation of sewith a little more learning, might have flourished as a philo- crecy, Praxagora addresses her lamp in Aristophanes, Exzis. sopher in those days, and would have required but the polish We may judge how fanciful they were, in the use and embel- | of the schools to become the rival of Aristippus in morality. lishment of their lamps, from the famous symbolic Lucerna, In the science of nature, too, though some valuable truths which we find in the Romanum Museum Mich. Ang. Causei, 1 were discovered by them, they seemed hardly to know they p. 127. were truths, or at least were as well satisfied with errors; 3 Hesiod, who tells us in melancholy terms of his father's and Xenophanes, who asserted that the stars were igneous Night to the wretched village of Ascra. Egy.z«i 'Huse. v.25L clouds, lighted up every night and extinguished again in the 4 Εννυχιαι στειχον, περικαλλέα σσαν Λισαι. Τheog. v. 10. morning, was thought and styled a philosopher, as generally 5 Και μοι σκηστεον εδον, δαφνης επιθηλεα οζον. d. v.30.