Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

My last address to Heaven is due;
The last but one is all-to you.

IMITATION OF MARTIAL.

COME, Chloe, and give me sweet kisses,
For sweeter sure girl never gave!
But why, in the midst of my blisses,
Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure,

Then prithee, my charmer, be kind;
For whilst I love thee above measure,
To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd.

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,
Count the flow'rs that enamel its fields;
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,
Or the grain that rich Sicily yields:
Go number the stars in the heaven,
Count how many sands on the shore:
When so many kisses you've given,
I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love, let me hold thee;
To a heart which, dear Chloe, is thine!
With my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,

And twist round thy limbs like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is ?—
My life on thy lips shall be spent!
But the wretch that can number his kisses,
With few will be ever content.

TO MISS S.

THE fates ordain, we must obey!
This, this is doom'd to be the day,
The hour of war draws near;
The eager crew, with busy care,
Their instruments of death prepare,
And banish every fear.

The martial trumpets call to arms,
Each breast with such an ardour warms
As Britons only know:

The flag of battle, waving high,
Attracts with joy each Briton's eye;
With terror strikes the foe.

Amidst this nobly awful scene,
Ere yet fell slaughter's rage begin,

Ere death his conquests swell;
Let me to love this tribute pay,
For MARY frame the parting lay-
Perhaps, my last "farewell!"

For since full low among the dead--
Must many a gallant youth be laid,

Ere this day's work be o'er:
Perhaps ev'n I, with joyful eyes
That saw this morning's sun arise,
Shall see it rise no more.

My love, that ever burnt so true,
That but for thee no wishes knew,
My heart's fond, best desire!

Shall be remember'd ev'n in death;
And only with my latest breath,

With life's last pang expire.

And when, dear Maid! my fate you hear,
(Sure love like mine demands one tear,
Demands one heartfelt sigh!)

My past sad errors, O forgive !
Let my few virtues only live,
My follies with me die.

But, hark! the voice of battle calls!
Loud thundering from the towery walls,
Now roars the hostile gun;

Adieu, dear Maid!—with ready feet
I go, prepar'd the worst to meet:
Thy will, O God, be done!

THE WANDERING LOVER.

FAREWELL, companions of my secret sighs,
Love-haunted streams, and vales besprent with dew!
Pensive I see the ridgy hills arise,

Which must for ever hide you from my view.

A fleeting shadow was my promis'd peace,

The baseless fabric of a dream, my rest;

I laid me down in confidence of ease,

And meedless sorrow burst my bleeding breast.

See, yonder fleets the visionary scheme,
The fond illusion of a simple mind-

The sweets of love,-the solitary stream,

The fragrant meadow, and the whispering wind!

Say, my ELIZA! was it fancied bliss

You used to picture, by yon falling rill? O, say, where is it ?-must it end in this?

O still deceive, and I'll believe you still!

Say fortune yet has happier days in store,

Days big with transport, and with raptures new: O! say I'm your's; I ask, I hope no more; But only say so, and I'll think it true.

But whither wanders my distemper'd brain,
On seas of fancy and vagary tost?
Before me lies a bleak extended plain,

And love and rapture are for ever lost!

Night, raven-wing'd, usurps her peaceful reign;
Sleep's lenient balsam stills the voice of woe;
A keener breeze breathes o'er the lowly plain,
And pebbly rills in deeper murmurs flow.

The paly moon through yonder dreary grove,
The screech-owl's haunt, emits a feeble ray;
The plumy warblers quit the song of love,

And dangle, slumb'ring, on the dewy spray.

The mastiff, conscious of the lover's tread,
With wakeful yell the listening Maid alarms,
Who, loosely rob'd, forsakes the downy bed,
And springs reserveless to his longing arms.

O, happy he! who, with the maid he loves,
Thus toys, endearing, on the twilight green,
While all is rapture, Cupid's self approves,
And Jove, consenting, veils the tender scene.

O, happy he! by gracious fate allow'd,
At dusky eve, to clasp the slender waist,
Press the soft lip, dissolve the silky shroud,
And feel the heavings of a love-sick breast.

Once mine the bliss :-But now, with plaintive care,
I, lonely wandering, tune the voice of woe!
And, patient, brave the chilly midnight air,
Where wild woods thicken, and where waters flow.

IDEAL BEAUTY.

A NYMPH of every charm possess'd
That native virtue gives,

Within my bosom, all-confess'd,
In bright idea lives.

For her my trembling numbers play
Along the pathless deep,

While, sadly social with my lay,
The winds in concert weep.

If beauty's sacred influence charms
The rage of adverse fate,
Say, why the pleasing soft alarms

Such cruel pangs create ?

Since all her thoughts, by sense refin'd,
Unartful truth express,

Say, wherefore sense and truth are join'd
To give my soul distress?

If when her blooming lips I press,
Which vernal fragrance fills,

Through all my veins the sweet excess

In trembling motion thrills;

Say, whence this secret anguish grows,

Congenial with my joy!

And why the touch, where pleasure glows, Should vital peace destroy?

If when my Fair in melting song
Awakes the vocal lay,

Not all your notes, ye Phocian throng,
Such pleasing sounds convey;
Thus wrapt all o'er with fondest love,
Why heaves this broken sigh?
For then my blood forgets to move:
I gaze, adore, and die.

« PredošláPokračovať »