Press her lips the while they glow
with love that they have often told,—
hereafter thou may'st preșs in woe,
and kiss them till thine own are cold.
Press her lips the while. they glow!
THE RESTORATION OF HELLAS
'HE world's great age begins anew,
THE world's great a return,
the earth doth like a snake renew
her winter weeds outworn:
a brighter Hellas rears its mountains
from waves serener far;
a new Peneus rolls its fountains
against the morning-star.
Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep
young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.
Another Athens shall arise,
and to remoter time
bequeath, like sunset to the skies,
the splendour of its prime;
and leave, if nought so bright may live,
all earth can take or heaven can give.
WEET Echo, sleeps thy vocal shell,
while Tweed, with sun-reflecting streams,
chequers thy rocks with dancing beams?
Here may no clamours harsh intrude,
no brawling hound or clarion rude;
here no fell beast of midnight prowl,
and teach thy tortured cliffs to howl.
Be thine to pour these vales along
some artless shepherd's evening song;
while night's sweet bird from yon high spray
responsive listens to his lay.
And if, like me, some love-lorn maid
should sing her sorrows to thy shade,
O, soothe her breast, ye rocks around,
with softest sympathy of sound.
ELL, then, I now do plainly see
this busy world and I shall ne'er agree; the very honey of all earthly joy does of all meats the soonest cloy : and they (methinks) deserve my pity who for it can endure the stings, the crowd, and buz, and murmurings of this great hive, the City.
Ah! yet, ere I descend to the grave,
may I a small house and large garden have!
and a few friends, and many books, both true,
both wise, and both delightful too!
and since Love ne'er will from me flee,
a Mistress moderately fair,
and good as guardian-angels are,
only beloved and loving me!
WOULD I were a careless child,
still dwelling in my Highland cave,
or roaming through the dusky wild,
or bounding o'er the dark blue wave;
the cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride
accords not with the freeborn soul,
which loves the mountain's craggy side,
and seeks the rocks where billows roll.
Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
take back this name of splendid sound!
I hate the touch of servile hands,
I hate the slaves that cringe around.
Place me among the rocks I love,
which sound to Ocean's wildest roar;
I ask but this-again to rove
through scenes my youth hath known before.
162 Few are my years, and yet I feel
the world was ne'er designed for me:
ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
the hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream,
a visionary scene of bliss:
truth!-wherefore did thy hated beam
awake me to a world like this?
I loved-but those I loved are gone;
had friends-my early friends are fled:
how cheerless feels the heart alone
when all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
dispel awhile the sense of ill;
though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
the heart-the heart-is lonely still.
163 How dull! to hear the voice of those
whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, have made, though neither friends nor foes, associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few,
in years and feelings still the same,
and I will fly the midnight crew,
where boisterous joy is but a name.
Fain would I fly the haunts of men-
I seek to shun, not hate mankind;
my breast requires the sullen glen,
whose gloom may suit a darkened mind.
Oh! that to me the wings were given
which bear the turtle to her nest!
then would I cleave the vault of heaven,
to flee away, and be at rest.
THE solemn harmony
paused, and the spirit of that mighty singing
to its abyss was suddenly withdrawn;
then as a wild swan, when sublimely winging
its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn,
sinks headlong through the aerial golden light
on the heavy sounding plain,
when the bolt has pierced its brain;
as summer clouds dissolve unburthened of their rain;
as a far taper fades with fading night;
as a brief insect dies with dying day,
my song, its pinions disarrayed of might,
drooped; o'er it closed the echoes far away
of the great voice which did its flight sustain,
as waves which lately paved his watery way
hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play.
AN Love again o'er this sad breast
CAN Love go'er this sign
again his downy plume invest
a heart, by sorrow chilled to stone?
again expand his infant wing
o'er the dark void of deep despair?
and bid the roseate blushes spring
e'en from the pallid cheek of care?
Can the quick pulse of fond alarm
in this cold bosom dare to beat?
the trembling joy, the anxious charm,
the bitter struggling with the sweet?
Ah! no, all cold and dark and void,
scarce beams one spark of genial fire;
the very power of Love destroyed,
O, Life! in mercy too expire.
So who died along this shore
who died within this mountain glen!
for never nobler chieftain's head
was laid on Valour's crimson bed,
nor ever prouder gore
sprang forth, than theirs who won the day
upon thy strand, Thermopylæ!
Shout for the mighty men,
who on the Persian tents,
like lions from their midnight den
bounding on the slumbering deer,
rush'd-a storm of sword and spear;-
like the roused elements,
let loose from an immortal hand,
to chasten or to crush a land!
WHEN the wearying cares of state
oppress the monarch with their weight,
when from his pomp retired alone
he feels the duties of the throne,
feels that the multitude below
depend on him for weal or woe;
when his powerful will may bless
a realm with peace and happiness,
or with desolating breath
breathe ruin round and woe and death;
oh! give to him the flowing bowl,
bid it humanize his soul;
he shall not feel the empire's weight,
he shall not feel the cares of state,
the bowl shall each dark thought beguile,
and nations live and prosper from his smile.
THE FOLLY OF MAKING TROUBLES
HEN we meet as when we part,
why should sighs attend us,
making sad the gayest heart
Heaven is pleased to send us?
Why, when all is bright to-day,
should man choose to borrow
something from the darker ray
destined for to-morrow?
If indeed to-morrow brings
what is like to sear us,
why not seize by both its wings
pleasure, while 'tis near us?
Why still float life's ocean o'er,
missing joys designed us,
casting anxious eyes before,
tearful ones behind us?
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