« ПредишнаНапред »
As to betray how soon man's glories cease;
Tombs, time defying, of the most pretence
The following is only a portion of a series of reminiscences equally luxurious and intense, and which are attended throughout by that vein of reflection which our author never loses:
Oh, were the eye of youth a moment ours !
When every flower that gemm'd the various earth
And every bird, of everlasting mirth
Love was the garniture, whose blameless birth
We can remember earliest days of spring,
When violets blue and white, and primrose pale,
Each peep'd from under the broad leaf's green veil.
O'er the wide empyrean did prevail,
When a soft moisture, steaming every where,
To the earth's countenance mellower hues imparted;
Or perched on bows, in shrilly quiverings darted
(While glancing lights backwards and forwards started,
Oh, in these moments, we such joy have felt,
As if the earth were nothing but a shrine;
Gratefully towards its architect divine!
Within that very sanctuary of thine
Oft in the fulness of the joy ye give,
Oh, days of youth! in summer's noon-tide hours, Did I a depth of quietness receive
From insects' drowsy hum, that all my powers Would baffle to portray! Let them that live
In vacant solitude, speak from their bowers What nameless pleasures letter'd ease may cheer, Thee, Nature! bless'd to mark with eye and ear!
Who can have watch'd the wild rose' blushing dye,
And seen what treasures its rich cups contain; Who, of soft shades the fine variety,
From white to deepest flush of vermeil-stain?
Its petals breath'd perfume, while he did strain
Who amid lanes, on eve of summer days,
Which sheep brouse, could the thicket's wealth behold? The fragrant honey-suckle's bowery maze?
The furze bush, with its vegetable gold?
The fox-glove's cone, the figures manifold
The daisy, cowslip, each have to them given
The wood anemone, the strawberry wild, Grass of Parnassus, meek as star of even :
Bright, as the brightening eye of smiling child,
Veronica; the primrose pale, and mild ;-
'Twere hard to enumerate the charms combin'd Within the little space, greeting the eyes,
Its unpretending precincts that confin'd. Onward, in front, a mountain stream did rise
Up, whose long course the fascinated mind (So apt the scene to awaken wildest themes) Might localize the most romantic dreams.
When winter torrents, by the rain and snow,
Surlily dashing down the hills, were fed, Its mighty mass of waters seem'd to flow
With deafening course precipitous : its bed
Rocky, such steep declivities did show
Broken by frequent falls; thus did it roam
In whirlpools eddying, and convulsed with foam.
Flank'd were its banks with perpendicular rocks,
So many voices from this river came
When fires gleam'd bright, and when the curtain’d room,
Yes, in such hour as that—thy voice I’ve known.
Thy voice I've known to wake a dream of wonder
One might have thought, that spirits of the air
Warbled amid it in an undersong;
Of spirits, driven for chastisement along
All species seem'd of intonation (strong
But when the heavens are blue, and summer skies
Are pictur'd in thy wave's cerulean glances;
Trips on so merrily in endless dances,
From thy swift course, methinks, that it enhances
Solemn the mountains that the horizon close,
From whose drear verge thou seem'st to issue forth:
(Or any wondrous spell of heaven or earth,
Amid the forms that mark thy place of birth.
The tale of Titus and Gisippus which follows, while it is very interesting as a story, exhibits the same great intellectual power and ceaseless activity of thought, which characterize the Thoughts in London. Mr. Lloyd has taken the common incident of one lover resigning his mistress to another, and the names of his chief characters from Boccaccio, but in all other respects, the poem is original. Its chief peculiarity is the manner in which it reasons upon all the emotions which it portrays, especially on the progress of love in the soul, with infinite nicety of discrimination, not unlike that which Shakspeare has manifested in his amatory poems. He accounts for the finest shade of feeling, and analyzes its essence, with the same care, as though he were demonstrating a proposition of Euclid. He is as minute in his delineation of all the variations of the heart, as Richardson was in his narratives of matters of fact;-and, like him, thus throws such an air of truth over his statements, that we can scarcely avoid receiving them as authentic history. At the same time, he conducts this process with so delicate a hand, and touches his subjects with so deep a reverence for humanity, that he teaches us to love our nature the more from his masterly dissection. By way of example of these remarks, we will give part of the scene between a lover who long has secretly been agitated by a passion for the betrothed mistress of his friend, and the object of his silent affection whom he has just rescued from a watery grave-though it is not perhaps the most beautiful passage of the poem:
He is on land; on safe land is he come:
Sophronia's head he pillows on a stone:
Her head falls lapsing on his shoulder. None
Is seal'd for evermore! At last a groan
Where was he then? From death to life restor'd!
From hell to heaven! To rapture from despair!
And now her pulse he feels; and now-(beware,
Of perfume from her lips, which though they were
Still were they cold; her hands were also cold;
Those hands he chaf'd, and, perhaps to restore
He grew, he kiss'd those pale lips o'er and o'er.
Their wonted rubeous hue, he dared do more;
Thou art undone, mad youth! The fire of love
Burn'd so intensely in his throbbing veins,
A new Pygmalion, and the icy chains
The torpor which her o'er-wrought frame sustains.-