To love, and to be lov'd again;
To know, that, though the world may frown, One gentle heart will sooth thy pain,
Is dearer than a monarch's crown!
And, oh! how dear the whisper'd thought,
The dulcet answer softly spoken,
The timid sigh, with feeling fraught,
The melting kiss, love's truest token!
To me, how beauty's charms can tire,
Is myst'ry most supremely strange ;-
Charms which a Stoic might admire,
And for philosophy exchange!
The bright-blue eye's celestial gleam;
Such charmful lustre is there in it,
To me an orb of light would seem,
And sooth me for each anguish'd minute.
The brow where never wrinkle came,
Where undivided peace reposes;
The cheek illum'd by Virtue's flame,
And beaming with her brightest roses.
The lip, whose murmurs ask protection,
Or whence sweet melodies are stealing;
The breast,-soft throne of fond affection-
Where throbs, inhum'd, the heart of feeling:
The angel arm, and fingers fair,
When o'er the maze of music straying, Striking each chord divinely rare,
As gay or pensive themes are playing:
All, all are dear!—and whilst I live,
Still may they warm this breast of mine;
Life without love no charm can give,
For wanting that man must repine!
Then ask me not to tell, again,
If I am tir'd of love and beauty;
I worship both, nor want, nor pain,
Could tempt me from so dear a duty.
Nor think I coldly sing of love
When I have never felt its thrilling:
It has been mine its joys to prove,
To feel its griefs my bosom filling:
And I have own'd bright beauty's pow'r,
Have mark'd her blue-eye's brilliant beaming,
Have shar'd her sad, her happy hour,
And press'd the lip with nectar teeming!
And can I then forget the blisses
That love and beauty gave me ever;
The smiles, the tears, the frowns, the kisses?
Never, my chilling friend, oh, never!
ON THE MARRIAGE OF MISS F. TO MR. PAIN.
WHAT idle schemes fond nymphs pursue,
When they submit to Hymen's chain!
Here's F for instance, what's her view,
Whose pleasure, all must flow from Pain?
FROM THE FRENCH OF MARECHAL.
KEEP thy gold, proud rival; keep
Hoarded up the dazzling heap;
Thine eyes on that dear idol feast,
Idol worthy of the priest !
Go! and exist but for thyself!
Go! vegetate amidst thy pelf!
Thou well canst play that sordid part;
But know, to love requires a heart!
Thou, because blind Fortune pours
Profusely at thy feet her stores,
Fondly believ'st, with erring thought,
My Delia's graces may be bought.
Cease thus to let thy wishes fly
Beyond thy power to gratify!
I envy not thy boundless treasures,
Why enviest thou my tender pleasures?
Thou art but rich! to Delia's eyes
This alone will not suffice:
In the swain she calls her lover
Other charms she must discover.
With only riches to thy share
Thou striv❜st in vain to please the fair:
Then keep, proud rival! keep thy gold.
What hop'st thou? Love is never sold!
REDESDALE! for those, whose faint and grateful cry
Is checked by sobs, or smothered by a sigh;
For those, whose eyes whene'er they hear thy name
Flash through their tears hope's long forgotten flame;
For those, condemn'd uncounted years to tell
By minute groans within their prison cell;
For those I thank thee. O presumptuous task!
What other thanks than theirs does Redesdale ask!
How weak the fame the lowly songstress rears,
To the unspoken praise that floats in tears!
What incense half so sweet as that which driven
By grateful captives' sighs ascends to heaven!
One only to thy soul more dear can be
The shout when these sad captives shall be free:
Then while thine ear shall weaker praise resign;
Then thy glad heart will cry, this deed was mine.
Long did we hurl accusing Freedom's brand
O'er iron despots in a slavish land;
Long did the brave denounce, the gentle feel
The fabled horrors of the dread Bastille.
And shall we now, whose pure and equal laws
Force from an envying world unbought applause,
Shall we, in freedom rich, in man, in mind,
Mind, freedom, man, in hopeless durance bind,
And doom the guiltless sufferer to sustain
Worse ills than lurked within the Gallic chain!
Worse! For the monarch's victim only felt
The pangs that in his single bosom dwelt;
He knew, that safe, secure, though far away,
All whom he lov'd remain'd, to weep, to pray,
To fear, but still to hope! and oft the thought
I only suffer, sweet consolement brought;
Till his heart melting in love's generous glow
Found a degree of bliss in unshared woe.
But he, the captive of some petty debt,
Whose tears an aged wife's cold bosom wet;
Who hangs upon his lovely daughter's arm,
Watching each languid smile, each withering charm;
While fondness mourns the rose that fades so fast;
And reason wishes that soft bloom were past;
What thought can comfort him! his wife in vain
Seeks to assuage his grief and ease his pain,
Sinking with famine, still with hope she cheers;
Unmark'd her words-her voice alone he hears,
Whose hollow tones make mockery of joy:
Sees but the eyes that hope itself destroy;
The sunken cheeks; the forced and ghastly smile;
And the cold hand that can no longer toil.
He turns, in flaxen curls and eyes of blue,
And rosy lips a direr ill to view.
Then thro' his brain while sad forebodings roll,
Remembered joys come thronging o'er his soul;
For the red lofty walls, that bar all light,
His white-washed cot appears in sunshine bright;
Tall trees rise proudly in the western beam,
And gurgles down the hill the sparkling stream;
Beneath the vine-wreath'd porch his wife serene
Smiles at the May-day sports upon the green,
And she who leads the dance in beauty mild,
So young, so fair, so gay, it is his child!-
|