« 上一頁繼續 »
But say, what nymph will prize the flame
What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
For friendship every fool may share?
In time forbear; amidst the throng
Be something, any thing, but-mean.
To death even hours like these must roll; Ah! then repeat those accents never; Or change « my life!» into « my soul!»> Which, like my love, exists for ever.
IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
Thy husband's blest-and 't will impart
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smiled, I kiss'd it, for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it, and repress'd my sighs
And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee 1 can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
My heart in all, save hope, the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look; But now to tremble were a crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there: One only feeling couldst thou trace; The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake: Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? My foolish heart, be still, or break.
FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
In moments to delight devoted,
My life!» with tenderest tone, you cry; Dear words on which my heart had doted, If youth could neither fade nor die.
SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF DRURY-LANE THEATRE, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1812.
In one dread night our city saw, and sigh'd, Bow'd to the dust, the Drama's tower of pride: In one short hour beheld the blazing fane, Apollo sink, and Shakspeare cease to reign.
Ye who beheld, (oh! sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) Through clouds of fire, the massy fragments riven, Like Israel's pillar, chase the night from heaven; Saw the long column of revolving flames Shake its red shadow o'er the startled Thames, While thousands, throng'd around the burning dome, Shrank back appall'd, and trembled for their home, As glared the volumed blaze, and ghastly shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own, Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall; Say-shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Rear'd where once rose the mightiest in our isle, Know the same favour which the former knew, A shrine for Shakspeare-worthy him and you?
Yes-it shall be the magic of that name Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame; On the same spot still consecrates the scene, And bids the Drama be where she hath been: This fabric's birth attests the potent spellIndulge our honest pride, and say, How well!
As soars this fane to emulate the last, Oh! might we draw our omens from the past, Some hour propious to our prayers may boast Names such as hallow still the dome we lost. On Drury first your Siddons' thrilling art O'erwhel.n'd the gentlest, storm'd the sternest heart. On Drury, Garrick's latest laurels grew; Here your last tears retiring Roscius drew, Sigh'd his last thanks, and wept his last adieu: But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom That only waste their odours o'er the tomb. Such Drury claim'd and claims-nor you refuse One tribute to revive his slumbering muse; With garlands deck your own Menander's head! Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead!
Dear are the days which made our annals bright, Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write. Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs, Vain of our ancestry, as they of theirs; While thus remembrance borrows Banquo's glass To claim the sceptred shadows as they pass, And we the mirror hold, where imaged shine Immortal names, emblazon'd on our line, Pause-ere their feebler offspring you condemn, Reflect how hard the task to rival them!
Friends of the stage! to whom both players and plays
And made us blush that you forbore to blame;
This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd,
Springs from our hearts, and fain would win your own.
Still may we please-long, long may you preside!
TIME! on whose arbitrary wing
The varying hours must flag or fly, Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, But drag or drive us on to dieHail thou! who on my birth bestow'd
Those boons to all that know thee known; Yet better I sustain thy load,
For now I bear the weight alone.
I would not one fond heart should share
Thy future ills shall press in vain;
It felt, but still forgot thy power:
Retards, but never counts the hour.
Would soon subside from swift to slow;
Who ne'er have loved, and loved in vain,
Can neither feel nor pity pain,
The cold repulse, the look askance,
In flattering dreams I deem'd thee mine;
My light of life! ah, tell me why
Mine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow: What wretch with me would barter woe! My bird! relent: one note could give
A charm, to bid thy lover live.
My curdling blood, my maddening brain,
In silent anguish I sustain!
And still thy heart, without partaking
Pour me the poison; fear not thou!
My wounded soul, my bleeding breast,
That joy is harbinger of woe.
THOU art not false, but thou art fickle,
Are doubly bitter from that thought: "Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lovest-too soon thou leavest.
The wholly false the heart despises,
And spurns deceiver and deceit; But she who not a thought disguises,
Whose love is as sincere as sweet,— When she can change who loved so truly, It feels what mine has felt so newly.
To dream of joy and wake to sorrow
What must they feel whom no false vision, But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? Sincere, but swift in sad transition,
As if a dream alone had charm'd? Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, And all thy change can be but dreaming!
ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE ORIGIN
THE "Origin of Love!»-Ah why
And shouldst thou seek his end to know: My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, He'll linger long in silent woe;
But live until I cease to be.
Think that, whate'er to others, thou
Even now, in midnight solitude.
Oh, God! that we had met in time,
Far may thy days, as heretofore,
Itself destroy'd might there destroy;
Like mine, is wild and worthless all, That world resign-such scenes forego, Where those who feel must surely fall.
Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness,
Oh! pardon that imploring tear,
Since not by virtue shed in vain, My frenzy drew from eyes so dear; For me they shall not weep again.
Though long and mournful must it be,
The thought that we no more may meet; Yet I deserve the stern decree,
And almost deem the sentence sweet.
Still, had I loved thee less, my heart
Quaff while thou canst-another race,
Newstead Abbey, 1808.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BART.
THERE is a tear for all that die,
A mourner o'er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And triumph weeps above the brave.
For them is sorrow's purest sigh
O'er ocean's heaving bosom sent: In vain their bones unburied lie,
All earth becomes their monument!
A tomb is theirs on every page,
An epitaph on every tongue.
For them the voice of festal mirth
Grows hush'd, their name the only sound; While deep remembrance pours to worth
The goblet's tributary round.
A theme to crowds that knew them not,
Who would not share their glorious lot?
And, gallant Parker! thus enshrined
Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; And early valour, glowing, find
A model in thy memory.
But there are breasts that bleed with thee
Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. Where shall they turn to mourn thee less? When cease to hear thy cherish'd name? Time cannot teach forgetfulness,
While grief's full heart is fed by fame.
Alas! for them, though not for thee,
They can not choose but weep the more; Deep for the dead the grief must be,
Who ne'er gave cause to mourn before.
TO A LADY WEEPING.
WEEP, daughter of a royal line,
A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay; Ah, happy! if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away! Weep-for thy tears are virtue's tearsAuspicious to these suffering isles; And be each drop in future years Repaid thee by thy people's smiles!
FROM THE TURKISH.
THE chain I gave was fair to view,
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
Let him, who from thy neck unbound
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.
THINE eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,
That-but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought— I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent,
When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent)
The Magdalen of Guido saw the mornSuch seem'st thou-but how much more excellent! With nought remorse can claim-nor virtue scorn.
Tay cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
WHEN Some proud son of man returns to earth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 30, 1808.
FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky. T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh: Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, Are in that word-Farewell!-Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain
I only feel-Farewell!-Farewell!
BRIGHT be the place of thy soul!
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
As thy soul shall immortally be; And our sorrow may cease to repine, When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be: There should not be the shadow of gloom In aught that reminds us of thee. Young flowers and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest: But nor cypress nor yew let us see; For why should we mourn for the blest!