THE SNAKE. 1801. My love and I, the other day, A little snake put forth its head. "See," said the maid, with laughing eyes "Yonder the fatal emblem lies! "Who could expect such hidden harm "Beneath the rose's velvet charm?" Never did moral thought occur In more unlucky hour than this; For oh! I just was leading her, To talk of love and think of bliss. I rose to kill the snake, but she "No," said the girl—and many a spark Flash'd from her eyelid, as she said it"Under the rose, or in the dark, "One might, perhaps, have cause to dread it; "But when its wicked eyes appear, "And when we know for what they wink so, "One must be very simple, dear, "To let it sting one-don't you think so?” LINES, WRITTEN ON LEAVING PHILADELPHIA. τηνδε την πολιν φιλώς Ειπων επαξια γαρ. SOPHOCL. OEdip. Colon. v. 758. ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh! Oh Nature! though blessed and bright are thy rays, O'er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays In a smile from the heart that is dearly our own! Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain Unblest by the smile he had languish'd to meet ; Though scarce did he hope it would soothe him again, Till the threshold of home had been kiss'd by his feet! But the lays of his boyhood had stolen to their ear, And they loved what they knew of so humble a name, And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, That they found in his heart something sweeter than fame! Nor did woman- -oh woman! whose form and whose soul Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue! Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chill'd at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness too! Nor did she her enamouring magic deny, That magic his heart had relinquish'd so long, Like eyes he had loved was her eloquent eye, Like them did it soften and weep at his song. Oh! blest be the tear, and in memory oft May its sparkle be shed o'er his wandering dream! Oh! blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam! The stranger is gone-but he will not forget, When at home he shall talk of the toil he has known, To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone! THE FALL OF HEBE. A DITHYRAMBIC ODE. 'Twas on a day When the immortals at their banquet lay; * The bowl Sparkled with starry dew, The weeping of those myriad urns of light, Though I call this a Dithyrambic Ode, I cannot presume to say that it possesses, in any degree, the characteristics of that species of poetry. The nature of the ancient Within whose orbs, the almighty Power, At Nature's dawning hour, Dithyrambic is very imperfectly known. According to M. BURETTE, a licentious irregularity of metre, an extravagant research of thought and expression, and a rude embarrassed construction, are among its most distinguishing features. He adds, "Ces caractères des dityrambes se font sentir à ceux qui lisent attentivement les odes de Pindare."-Mémoires de PAcad. vol. x. p. 306. And the same opinion may be collected from SCHMIDT's Dissertation upon the subject. But I think, if the Dithyrambics of Pindar were in our possession, we should find that, however wild and fanciful; they were by no means the tasteless jargon they are represented, and that even their irregularity was what BOILEAU calls "un beau désordre." CHIABRERA, who has been styled the Pindar of Italy, and from whom all its poetry upon the Greek model was called Chiabreresco (as CRESCIMBENI informs us, lib. i. cap. 12), has given, amongst his Vendemmie, a Dithyrambic, "all' uso de' Greci; " it is full of those compound epithets which, we are told, were a chief character of the style (σύνθετες δε λέξεις εποιον. SUID. Διθυραμβοδιδ.); such as Briglindorato Pegaso But I cannot suppose that Pindar, even amidst all the license of dithyrambics, would ever have descended to ballad-language like the following: Bella Filli, e bella Clori Non più dar pregio a tue bellezze e taci, Che se Bacco fa vezzi alle mie labbra Fo le fiche a' vostri baci. -— esser vorrei Coppier, E se troppo desiro Deh fossi io Bottiglier. Rine del CHIABRERA, part ii. p. 352. |