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It had not created a warmer emotion
Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with
from you ;
Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the
Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly
For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure,
(And blissful is he who such happiness finds,) To possess
but a span of the hour of leisure In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.
ON RECEIVING A COPY OF VERSES
FROM THE SAME LADIES.
AST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
tain ? Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem, When it flutters in sunbeams that shine through
a fountain ?
Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine ?
That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold ? And splendidly mark'd with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold ?
Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing ?
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is? Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing ? And wear'st thou the shield of the famed Bri
What is it that hangs from thy shoulder so brave,
Embroider'd with many a spring-peering flower ? Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave ?
And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower ?
Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art
crown'd; Full many the glories that brighten thy youth ! I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless and to soothe.
On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sun-beaming tale of a wreath, and a chain : And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare
Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.
This canopy mark : 'tis the work of a fay;
Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, When lovely Titania was far, far away,
And cruelly left him to sorrow and anguish.
There, oft would he bring from his soft-sighing lute Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightin
gales listen'd! The wondering spirits of Heaven were mute, And tears ’mong the dewdrops of morning oft
In this little dome, all those melodies strange,
Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh ; Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change,
Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.
So when I am in a voluptuous vein,
I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.
Adieu! valiant Eric ! with joy thou art crown'd,
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,
I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to soothe.
ADST thou lived in days of old,
( what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
HEN by my solitary hearth I sit,
gloom; When no fair dreams before my “mind's eye” flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom ; Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for lier son to seize my careless heart When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart : Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him, as the morning frightens night!
Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head !
Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair, O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope ! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.