« 이전계속 »
FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS.
Meek spirit, who so early didst depart,
Thou art at rest in heaven! I linger here
And feed the lonely anguish of my heart,
Thinking of all that made existence dear.
All lost! if in the happy world above,
Remembrance of this mortal life endure,
Thou wilt not there forget the perfect love
Which still thou seest in me, O spirit pure!
And if the irremediable grief,
The woe which never hopes on earth relief,
May merit aught of thee, prefer thy prayer
To God, who took thee early to his rest,
That it may please him soon amid the blest
To summon me, dear maid, to meet thee there.
Written September 1799, in the thatched Shed, by the Brook, at Plas Newydd, in Llangollen Vale, the Villa of the Right Hon. Lady Eleanor Butler, and Miss Ponsonby.
BY ANNA SEWARD.
Stranger, when, o'er that slant, warm field, no cloud
Steals; at his foot, the verge of a wild brook,
In tangled dell, where sun-beams never look,
Press the screen'd seat;—and mark yon waters
Close to the cliff, down their slope channel rude;
Leaping o'er rugged stones, which aye provoke
Foam and hoarse murmur; while the pendent oak
Frowns o'er the little, clamorous, lonely flood.
Impetuous Deva's honour., ^ield to thine,
Dear Brook! for, O! thy scanty billows lave
Friendship and Fancy's consecrated shrine!
And thou mayst tell that Stream of mightier wave,
Here oft They muse the noon-tide hours away,
Who gild thy Vale with Intellectual ray.
.WRITTEN BY WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.
TO PRINCE HOARE, Esq.
In return for his interesting Correspondence with Foreign Academies.
Thanks to the Friend of universal Art,
Who shews me how a just and gen'rous mind,
By boundless sympathy, and zeal refin'd,
May thro' the veins of emulation dart
Supplies of vital fire, fresh hopes impart,
And in such ties the social nations bind,
That Commerce, with a smile divinely kind,
May bid new wonders into being start.
Thou lib'ral Patriot! lasting praise be thine,
Who, for the glory of thy native land,
Hast led her to achieve thy bright design,
To teach the heart of Genius to expand,
And cherish talents, wheresoe'er they shine—
Science and Honour guide and bless thy hand!
SONNET TO FORTUNE,
What, hop'st thou, Goddess, when thy ceaseless care
Spreads rocks and thorns to check my onward way,
That f shou'd tremble at thy fickle sway?
Or toil in vain to catch thy flying hair?
With threats like these awake the dastard fears
Of him who bows beneath thy base controul;
Know, I cou'd see, with calm intrepid soul,
The world in ruins, and the falling spheres 1
Nor am I new to dangers and alarms;
Long didst thou prove me in the doubtful fight;
From trying conflicts, and opposing harms,
I rose more valiant and confirm'd in might.
From falling hammers thus the temper'd arms
Strike with a keener edge, and beam more dazzling
Soft-breathing Zephyr, in some lonely dell, Where slowly winds the limpid stream its way, Hid by the oak's broad shade from prying day,
Dost those delight alone, remote, to dwell?
Or rather, where the mountain's lofty van
Frowns on the vale below, say dost thou fly,
And with thy silky wings each floret fan
That blooms unseen by any mortal eye?
From dell remote, where strays the mazy stream,
Or where on airy cliff the lone buds spring,
Haste I to my languid frame thy breezes bring,
Unnerv'd I faint beneath the Sun's fierce beam: While in my bosom a still fiercer fire Consuming preys, with life alone to expire!
R. A. D. 1796.