« PredošláPokračovať »
' Does age, old man, your wits confound ?
Replied the offended god, and frowned ; (His frown was sweet as is the virgin's smile!)
• Do you to me these words address ?
To me, who do not love you less, Though you my friendship scorn, and pleasures
past revile! • If one proud'fair you chanced to find,
A hundred other nymphs were kind, Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone:
But such is man! his partial hand
Unnumber'd favours writes on sand, But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone.
* Ingrate! Who led you to the wave,
At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay?
And wbo, when Celia shriek'd for aid,
Bade you with kisses hush the maid ? (say! What other was't than Love, oh! false Anacreon,
“ Then you could call me—" Gentle boy !
My only bliss! my source of joy !”. Then you could prize me dearer than your soul!
Could kiss, and dance me on your knees;
And swear, not wine itself would please, Had not the lip of Love first touch'd the flowing
bowl! Must those sweet days return no more ? Must I for aye your loss deplore, Banish'd your heart, and from your favour driven ?
Ah! no; my fears that smile denies;
That heaving breast, those sparkling eyes Declare me ever dear, and all my faults forgiven. Again beloved, esteemed, caress'd, Cupid shall in thine arms be press’d, Sport on thy knees, or on thy bosom sleep :
My torch thine age-struck heart shall warm;
My hand pale winter's rage disarm, And Youth and Spring shall here once more their
He smiling from his pinion drew:
And straight before Anacreon's eyes
The fairest dreams of fancy rise, And round his favour'd head wild inspiration flits.
His bosom glows with amorous fire ;
Eager he grasps the magic lyre; Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move :
The feather pluck'd from Cupid's wing
Sweeps the too long neglected string, (Love. While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of
Soon as that name was heard, the woods
Shook off their snows; the melting floods Broke their cold chains, and winter fled away.
Once more the earth was deck'd with flowers; Mild zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; High tower'd the glorious sun, and poured the
blaze of day.
Sylvans and fauns the cot surround,
The woodnymphs haste the spell to prove;
Eager they run; they list, they love, And, while they hear the strain, forget the man
[is old. Cupid, to nothing constant long,
Perch'd on the harp attends the song, Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes :
Now on the poet's breast reposes,
Now twines his hoary locks with roses, Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats.
Then thus Anacreon- I no more
At other shrines my vows will pour, Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire :
From Phoebus or the blue-eyed maid
Now shall my verse request no aid, For Love alone shall be the patron of my lyre.
• In lofty strain, of earlier days,
I spread the king's or hero's praise,
But farewell, hero! farewell, king !
Your deeds my lips no more shall sing, For Love alone shall be the subject of my lyre.'
M. G. LEWIS.
LOVE AT SALE.
COME buy my ware! come buy! come buy!
Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh; I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.
Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!
Though mild his looks, his arrows fear; Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.
He in this little form unites
He reigns the lord of every mortal heart:
He wounds the peasant, wounds the king,
And is the fairest, falsest thing
Light as the wind, wild as the wave,
He's both a tyrant and a slave;
A bitter sweet, and luscious sour!-
Wretched is he who knows his power, Yet far more wretched still is he who knows it not.
His tongue is with persuasion tipp'd;
His darts, in poison'd honey dipp’d,
His lips are rich in flattering lies,
[sight. He binds, and so conceals his faults from his own
He has two cheeks of blushing red;
He has two wings which still are spread, When most his stay is wish’d, most swift to fly:
He joys in wanton tricks and wiles,
And mark! that when he sweetest smiles, Then is the rogue most sure those tricks and wiles
For well, alas! too well I know,
He is the source of every woe,
But yet when first the false one came,
And kindled in my heart a flame, Who had believed deceit in such a form conceal'd!
He begged so gently on my breast
He seem'd so good, so grateful, and so meek!
He said, “ he long had sought around
A resting place—but none had found! And then I saw a tear pearl down his rosy cheek.
Who could, unmoved, his accents hear?
Who had not wiped away that tear? His tale of guile my ready ear believed;
He look'd so sweet, he spoke so fair,
With ease the traitor gain'd his prayer, And in my heart of hearts with transport was
But since I find his friends most true
Have reason most his spite to rue, I'll take dear-bought Conviction’s sage advice,
And drive him from my breast away:
He shall no more my trust betray, But be the slave of him who bids the highest price.
Observe, whoe'er shall buy this boy,
This offspring of Despair and Joy,
A lot of jealous doubts and fears,
Of fainting Virtue's last pure tears,
Kindled by sweet fifteen's desires;
Of worn out wings; of broken darts,
Whose points still rankle in the hearts Of fond forsaken maids! Come buy! come buy!