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Where from this Gothic casement's beight, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell; And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell.
O'er fields through which we used to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was dena Reposing on my breast you lay;
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss
It dared to give your slumbering eyes: See still the little painted bark,
In which I row'd you o'er the lake; See there, high waving o'er the park,
The elm I clamber'd for your sake. These times are past-our joys are gone, You leave me, leave this happy vale; These scenes I must rotrace alone :
Without thee, what will they avail ? Who can conceive, who has not proved, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly loved, You bid a long adieu to peace.
This is the deepest of our woes,
For this these tears our cheeks bedew ; this is of love the final close,
Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu!
TO M. S. G.
WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine,
Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss.
Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
For that would banish its repose.
A glance from thy soul-searching eye
I would not force a painful tear.
I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy bosom's heaven a hell!
No! for thou never canst be mine,
Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be.
Let it consume, thou shalt not know : With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortured heart,
By driving dove-eyed peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign.
Yes! yield those lips for which I'd brave
I bid thee now a last farewell.
Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair,
All, all reproach-but thy disgrace.
No matron shall thy shame reprove Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love.
THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Though keen the grief thy tears express'd,
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast
Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own.
But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd
Were lost in those which fell from thine.
Thou couldst not feel my burning cheek,
Thy gushing tears had quench'd its fla And as thy tongue essay'd to speak,
In sighs alone it breathed iny name. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain,
In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain,
But that will make us weep the more.
Again, thou best beloved, adieu !
WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm,
Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe;
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear;
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
"Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features
In the death which one day will deprive you of me.
But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us,
And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low.
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure.
OH! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrows!
But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses,
Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this.
Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury-flakes bright'ning, Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage.
But now tears and curses, alike unavailing,
Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; Could they view us our sad separation bewailing,
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight.
Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation,
Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me,
STANZAS TO A LADY.
WITH THE POEMS OF CAMOENS.
THIS Votive pledge of fond esteem,
Who blames it but the envious fool,
In single sorrow doom'd to fade?
Then read, dear girl! with feeling read,
He was in sooth a genuine bard;
His was no faint, fictitious flame:
But not thy hapless fate the same.
THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE
'Α Βάρβιτος δὲ χορδαῖς
Ερωτα μοῦνον ηχει.---ANACREON.
AWAY with your fictions of flimsy romance;
Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove!
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love.
Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with phantasy glow,
Whose pastoral passions are made for the grove; From what blest inspiration your sonnets would flow, Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love!
If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse,
Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove,
I hate you, ye cold compositions of art!
Though prudes may condemn me, and bigots reprove, I court the effusions that spring from the heart
Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love!
Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes,
What are visions like these to the first kiss of love?
Oh! cease to affirm that man, since his birth,
From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove: Some portion of paradise still is on earth,
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC
WHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own,