TO IANTHE. Nor in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd ; Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd- To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak? Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, 8 Love's image upon earth without his wing, Young Peri of the West !—'tis well for me Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, To those whose admiration shall succeed, But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed. Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, 9 Could I to thee be ever more than friend: This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend, But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast, Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require ? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. A ROMAUNT. CANTO I. I. OH, thou! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will! Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth, Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill: Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill; Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine, Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale—this lowly lay of mine. I |