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.For what so sweet can laboured lays impartAs one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart?Anon.Nor travels my meandering eyeThe starry wilderness on high;Nor now with curious sightI mark the glow-worm, as I pass,Move with ›green radiance‹ through the grass,An emerald of light.O ever present to my view!My wafted spirit is with you,And soothes your boding fears:I see you all oppressed with gloomSit lonely in that cheerless room –Ah me! You are in tears!Beloved Woman! did you flyChilled Friendship's dark disliking eye,Or Mirth's untimely din?With cruel weight these trifles pressA temper sore with tenderness,When aches the Void within.But why with sable wand unblestShould Fancy rouse within my breastDim-visaged shapes of Dread?Untenanting its beauteous clayMy Sara's soul has winged its way,And hovers round my head!I felt it prompt the tender dream,When slowly sank the day's last gleam;You roused each gentler sense,As sighing o'er the blossom's bloomMeek Evening wakes its soft perfumeWith viewless influence.And hark, my Love! The sea-breeze moansThrough yon reft house! O'er rolling stonesIn bold ambitious sweep,The onward-surging tides supplyThe silence of the cloudless skyWith mimic thunders deep.Dark reddening from the channelled Isle5(Where stands one solitary pileUnslated by the blast)The watchfire, like a sullen starTwinkles to many a dozing tarRude cradled on the mast.Even there – beneath that light-house tower –In the tumultuous evil hourEre Peace with Sara came,Time was, I should have thought it sweetTo count the echoings of my feet,And watch the storm-vexed flame.And there in black soul-jaundiced fitA sad gloom-pampered Man to sit,And listen to the roar:When mountain surges bellowing deepWith an uncouth monster leapPlunged foaming on the shore.Then by the lightning's blaze to markSome toiling tempest-shattered bark;Her vain distress-guns hear;And when a second sheet of lightFlashed o'er the blackness of the night –To see no vessel there!But Fancy now more gaily sings;Or if awhile she droop her wings,As sky-larks 'mid the corn,On summer fields she grounds her breast:The oblivious poppy o'er her nestNods, till returning morn.O mark those smiling tears, that swellThe opened rose! From heaven they fell,And with the sun-beam blend.Blest visitations from above,Such are the tender woes of LoveFostering the heart they bend!When stormy Midnight howling roundBeats on our roof with clattering sound,To me your arms you'll stretch:Great God! you'll say – To us so kind,O shelter from this loud bleak windThe houseless, friendless wretch!The tears that tremble down your cheek,Shall bathe my kisses chaste and meekIn Pity's dew divine;And from your heart the sighs that stealShall make your rising bosom feelThe answering swell of mine!How oft, my Love! with shapings sweetI paint the moment, we shall meet!With eager speed I dart –I seize you in the vacant air,And fancy, with a husband's careI press you to my heart!'Tis said, in Summer's evening hourFlashes the golden-coloured flowerA fair electric flame:And so shall flash my love-charged eyeWhen all the heart's big ecstasyShoots rapid through the frame!LinesTo a Friend in Answer to a Melancholy LetterAway, those cloudy looks, that labouring sigh,The peevish offspring of a sickly hour!Nor meanly thus complain of Fortune's power,When the blind gamester throws a luckless die.Yon setting sun flashes a mournful gleamBehind those broken clouds, his stormy train:To-morrow shall the many-coloured mainIn brightness roll beneath his orient beam!Wild, as the autumnal gust, the hand of TimeFlies o'er his mystic lyre: in shadowy danceThe alternate groups of Joy and Grief advanceResponsive to his varying strains sublime!Bears on its wing each hour a load of Fate;The swain, who, lulled by Seine's mild murmurs, ledHis weary oxen to their nightly shed,To-day may rule a tempest-troubled State.Nor shall not Fortune with a vengeful smileSurvey the sanguinary despot's might,And haply hurl the pageant from his heightUnwept to wander in some savage isle.There shiv'ring sad beneath the tempest's frownRound his tired limbs to wrap the purple vest;And mixed with nails and beads, an equal jest!Barter for food the jewels of his crown [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]