صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

Wanton, ye fairies, round her tranquil bower,
With blissful elves fantastic measures tread ;
O'er her soft eyelids dews of opiate pour,
Cull'd from choice blooms, in showers of fra-
grance shed:

Let your bright tapers' visionary ray

The raven-tinctured robe of Night illume; And, streaming o'er your spangled crests, display The wave-enamour'd halcyon's emerald plume. And bid your minstrel fays, a shadowy choir, That charm the planets from their spheres sublime,

Celestial songs, that love and joy inspire,

Chant to their golden harps' harmonious chime. And when morn's purple streaks the' horizon stain, And fairies fly the peal of Chanticleer, Let Fancy still your glittering hues retain, Still let your wild notes tremble on her ear. Then, Lesbia, wake thy beauties, fresher far Than Galatea boasted when she laved In the smooth deep her coral-axled car,

And the stern heart of Neptune's son enslaved. Wake at his call, to soothe whose soul in vain Morn sheds her radiant beam, her odorous airs, Save when, attentive to his artless strain,

That radiant beam, those odours Lesbia shares. He asks no laureate wreath to deck his brows, No golden meed his bounded wishes claim, Bless'd if the object of his tenderest vows Smile on his lay-for Lesbia's smile is fame.




NAIAD, unseen of mortal eyes,

Whose light steps haunt this current lone, Where gentle Zephyr's balmy sighs,

With thy wild wave in unison,

Blend their aerial melodies;

Let me to thy deserted shades
Reveal the never dying flame

That all my pensive soul pervades,

And teach thine echoes Lesbia's name Ere the soft light of evening fades!

Unheard, unnoticed, let me rove

Thy trembling osier wreaths among, And woo the Muse where none reprove Affection's unambitious song,

Nor chide the plaint of hopeless love.

There, when the Day's dim eyelids close,
Hide me within some shadowy cave;
And, ministering to calm repose,

Oh, softly bid thy babbling wave
Kiss the dank sedge that round it grows!

No angler's cruel arts are mine,

Ye timid tenants of the brook! Wrought by my hand no viewless line, Disguised by me no treacherous hook

Bids you your little lives resign.

Nor this pellucid rill refrain
To sip, ye minstrels of the air!
Your downy plumage to distain

With blood, no fatal tube I bear,
Nor pay with death your artless strain.

That breast no savage sports can share
Where glow Affection's generous fires;
Soft Pity finds her mansion there,

All whom the breath of life inspires
By her own sorrow taught to spare.

Mine, gentle Naiad, be the dell

Whose clear stream laves thy crystal grot: Near its green margin let me dwell,

By all but one dear maid forgot, And bid a world of cares farewell.

Oft let me view thy trembling tide,
Checquer'd with Cynthia's silver light;
What time, in Fancy's train descried,
Before my fascinated sight,
Past Joy's illusive phantoms glide.

Hopeless of happier hours to come,
No more array'd in flattering hues,
For me the buds of Pleasure bloom:
Yet deigns, at Fancy's call, the Muse
To gild Affliction's deepening gloom.

With Lesbia's praise the strain shall glow;
Oh, may she taste each bliss supreme
That Hope can paint or Love bestow;
And calm as Glym's sequester'd stream
May her life's gentle current flow!

Wind, lovely brook, thy murmuring way,
Still with my sorrows sympathize:
So may thy banks fresh flowers inlay,
Thy waves in rich redundance rise,
Mild zephyrs on thy bosom play!

If zephyr should his breath deny,
My sighs shall fan thy flowery beds;
If parching rays thy channel dry,
The tears desponding Passion sheds
Shall its exhausted stream supply.





DERWENT, what scenes thy wandering waves be[stray, As bursting from thine hundred springs they And down these vales, in sounding torrents roll'd, Seek to the shining east their mazy way!

Here dusky alders, leaning from the cliff,

Dip their long arms and wave their branches


There, as the loose rocks thwart my bounding skiff, White moonbeams tremble on the foaming tide.

Pass on, ye waves, where, dress'd in lavish pride, Mid roseate bowers, the gorgeous Chatsworth beams,

Spreads her smooth lawns along your willowy side,

And eyes her gilded turrets in your streams.

Pass on, ye waves, where Nature's rudest child, Frowning incumbent o'er the darken'd floods, Rock rear'd on rock, mountain on mountain piled, Old Matlock sits and shakes his crest of woods. But when fair Derby's stately towers you view, When his bright meads your sparkling currents drink,

O! should Eliza press the morning dew,

And bend her graceful footsteps to your brink, Uncurl your eddies, all your gales confine, And, as your scaly nations gaze around, Bid your gay nymphs portray, with pencil fine, Her radiant form upon your silver ground.

With playful malice from her kindling cheek Steal the warm blush, and tinge your passing


Mock the sweet transient dimples as she speaks, And as she turns her eye reflect the beam!

And tell her, Derwent, as you murmur by,

How in these wilds with hopeless love I burn, Teach your lone vales and echoing caves to sigh, And mix my briny sorrows with your urn.



To heights where Fancy ne'er aspired,'
In what blest region of the sky,
Eludes the Queen of Love, retired,-
The sophist's art, the poet's eye?



« السابقةمتابعة »