« ПредишнаНапред »
BARRY CORNWALL'S MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
That my poor frame did shrink,
And waste and wither; and that Love's on For the sun of the summer has died away,
light Yet left no gloom :
| Did blast its temple, where For ere the Spirit of heaven went,
'Twas worshipped many a year; He strung night's shadowy instrument,
Veiled (like some holy thing) from hom And hung on every leaf perfume.
sight. To each sweet breeze that haunts the world, oni And sleeps by day in the rose-leaf curled, TShe lances
curled, She languished, and the men A warmth he gave:
From the dark glancing of her fringede He has left a life in these inarble halls,
Turned, but returned again And beauty on yon white water-falls,
| To mark the winding vcin And still at his bidding these dark pines
Steal tow'rd her marble bosom, silenth wave.
What matters this?—thou lyre, Rich is the Sun with his golden hair,
Nothing shall e'er inspire And his eye is too bright for man to bear;
Thy master to rehearse those songs ngur And when he shrouds
She whom he loved is gone, His brow in vapour, and all the west
And he, now left alone, Strews gold, as to welcome a kingly guest,
Sings, when he sings of love, in valu, in ta He looks like a god on his throne of clouds.
Yet-I know an eye as bright as his,
And love for innocence, when thou didet du She listens now to my wild guitar,
The treble-shaped Chimæra. Bat he is a And she hides her beyond yon lattice-bar, That struck the sparkling stream free (A girl's delight)
The plumed spirit may its journey tale
And note all things below that own & ETH
Mountain, and cataract, and silent lale Le silent now, my lyre,
And wander in the fields of pocsy, For all thy master's fire
Where avarice never comes, and seldom ct Is gone. It vanish'd like the summer-gun. Brightly the passion rose, And, 'till its turbulent close,
SONNET. It shone as bright; though all he wished
On a sequester'd Rivulet. was won.
THERE is no river in the world more 50 Deem me not false, ye fair,
Or fitter for a sylvan poet's theme, Who, with your golden hair
Than this romantic solitary stream, And soft eyes chain man's heart to yours: Over whose banks so many branche
Entangling :-a more shady bower or Thus bound by beauty's chain
Wag never fashioned in a summer the Wanders not again :
Where Nymph or Naiad from the bot Prisoner to love, like me-never to fear.
Might lide, or in the waters cool her han She whom I loved has filed;
A lovelier rivulet was never seen And now with the lost dead
Wandering amidst Italian meadow. ** I rank her: and the heart that loved her so, Clitunnus lapses from his fountain fa (But could not bear her pride)
Nor in that land where Gods, 'tis said. In its own cell hath died,
been; And turned to dust, but this she shall not Yet there Cephigus ran thro' olives
| And on its banks Aglaia bound her bur
Come then-ere yet the morning-ray
I wish I could ! For when she died, Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, i la
I lost my all; and life has prov'd And drawn your balmiest sweets away;
Since that sad hour a dreary void, 0 come, and grace my Anna's breast.
A waste unlovely, and unlov’d.-
But who, when I am turn'd to clay,
Shall duly to her grave repair, And spread their leavés with conscious
| And pluck the ragged moss away, pride.
And weeds that have no business there?
For there has liberal Nature join'd
Her riches to the stores of Art, And added to the vigorous mind,
The soft, the sympathizing heart.
And who with pious hand shall bring
The flowers she cherish'd, snow-drops cold, And violets that unheeded spring,
To scatter o'er her hollow'd mold?
Come then-ere yet the morning-ray
Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, And drawn your balmiest sweets away;
O come and grace my Anna's breast.
And who, while memory loves to dwell
Upon her name for ever dear,
And pour the bitter, bitter tear?
I did it; and would fate allow,
| How different man, the imp of noise : Should visit still, should still deplore- Who courts the storm that tears and . But health and strength have left me now,
life; And I alas! can weep no more.
Blessed when the passions wild there
invade! Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain, How nobler far to bid those whirlwinds The last I offer at thy shrine;
To taste, like thee, the luxury of pe Thy grave must then undeck'd remain, And shine in solitude and shade!
And all thy memory fade with mine.
Brigat stranger, welcome to my field, | Thus while I wondering pause o'er & Here feed in safety, here thy radiance yield;
speare's pagr. To me, oh nightly be thy splendour given: I mark, in visions of delight, the sagt, Oh, could a wish of mine the skies command, High o'er the wrecks of man, who sim How would I gem thy leaf with liberal band,
sublime, With every sweetest dew of heaven! A column in the melancholy waste,
|(Its cities humbled, and its glories past Say, dost thou kindly light the fairy-train, Majestic, 'inid the solitude of time. Amidst their gambols on the stilly plain, Yet now to sadness let me yield the bot' Hanging thy lamp upon the moistened blade? Yes, let the tears of purest friendships What lamp so fit, so pure as thine, Amidst the gentle elfin-band to shine, And chase the horrors of the midnight-shade? I view, alas! what ne'er should die,
A form, that wakes my deepest sigh; Oh! may no feathered foe disturb thy bower, A form that feels of death the leaden skur And with barbarian beak thy life devour: Descending to the realms of shade, Oh! may no rutbless torrent of the sky, I view a pale-eyed panting maid; O’erwhelming,force thee from thy dewy seat; I see the Virtues o'er their favourite vrs Nor tempests tear thee from thy green retreat, And bid thee 'midst the humming myriads die!
Ah! could the muse's simple prayer Queen of the inscct-world, what leaves Command the envied truunp of Fame.
Oblivion should Eliza spare : of such these willing hands a bower shall A world should echo with her name.
form, To guard thee from the rushing rains of night, And hide thee from the wild wing of the storm. Art thou departing too, my trembling frir
Ah! draws thy little lastre to its end? Sweet child of stillness, 'midst the awful calm | Yes, on thy frame Fate too shall fix hers Of pausing Nature thou art pleascolto dwell; O let me, pensive, watch thy pale derov In happy silence to enjoy thy balı,
How fast that frame, so tender, wrar av And shed, through life, a lustre round thy cell. How fast thy life the restless ininutes ste
v slender now, alas! thy thread of fire! Snows are fled that hung the bowers,
falling, falling, ready to expire! | Bude to blossoms softly steal, ain thy struggles-all will soon be o'er- Winter's rudeness melts in flowers:life thou snatchest with an eager leap: Charmer, leave thy spinning-wheel, w round I see thy flame so feeble creep, And tend the sheep with me. nt, lessening, quivering, glimmering
now no more! Careless here shall pleasures lull thee,
Careless here shall pleasure
From domestic troubles free;
Primrose, cowslip, violet:-
And tend the sheep with me.
Cast away thy twilly willy,
Winter's warm protecting gown,
Come with mantle loosely thrown,
Garments, light as gale's embraces,
That thy lovely shape reveal;
Put thou on thy airy dresses :w what is Life--An hour-glass on the run,
Charmer, leave thy spinning-wheel, mist, retreating from the morning-sun,
And tend the sheep with me. busy, bustling, still-repeated dream:length?-A minute's pause, a moment's
JSweet to sit where brooks are flowing, thought.
Pleasant spreads the gentle heat, ad happiness?-A bubble on the stream,
On the green's lap thyme is growing, hat in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.
Every molehill forms a seat :
Fear not suns 'cause thou’rt so fair, nd what is Hope? - The puffing gale of morn,
In the thorn-bower we'll conceal: hat robs each floweret of its rem.--and dies? Ne'er a sunbeam pierces there:cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
Charmer, leave thy spinning-wheel, hich stings more keenly through the thin
And tend the sheep with me. disguise. nd what is Death?-Is still the cause
unfound? hat dark, mysterious pame of horrid sound?
WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES. long and lingering sleep, the weary crave. nd Peace? - Where can its happiness
abound? To where at all, save Heaven, and the grave. SONNETS ON MILTON
'hen what is Life ? --when stripp'd of its
disguise, thing to be desired it cannot be; ince every thing that meets our foolish eyes, lives proof sufficient of its vanity.
Tis but a trial all must undergo;
IN YOUTH. Milton, our noblest poet, in the grace of youth, in those fair eyes and clustering
BALL A D.
Winter's gone, the summer-breezes
Breathe the shepherd's joys again; Village-scene no longer pleases,
Pleasures meet upon the plain;
Muse, that from top of thine old Greetist
bill, And, art thou he, now fall’n on evil days, Didst the harp-fumbling Theban poule And changed indeed? yet what does this
view, sunk check,
And on his lips bid bees their sweets dit These thinner locks, and that calm forehead,
ad, And gav'st the chariot that the white svus speak?
drew, A spirit reckless of man's blame or praise, - o let me scoop. from thine etherial rill, A spirit-when thine eyes to the noon's Some little palmfuls of the blessed der
And lend the swan-drawn car, that safely i Their dark orbs roll in vain-in sufferance like
ferance Like him may sdeign the earth and burst is meek,
the sky. As in the sight of God, intent to seek, 'Mid solitude, or age, or through the ways of hard adversity, th' approving look Our themes are like; for he the ganies estal Of its great master; while the conscious Held in the chariot-shaken Grecian plaise
Where the vain victor, arrogant and bal, Of wisdom, patient, and content to brook Parsley or laurel got for all his pains ; All ille, to that sole master's task applied,- I sing of sports more worthy to be told. Still show, before high Heaven, th’unaltered Where better prize the Scottish victorguin:
What were the crowns of Greece but wind Milton, though thou art poor, and old, and
and bladder, blind. Compar'd with marriage-bed of bonnie 16
And 0! that king Apollo would but gras
A little spark of that transcendant flame, O Time, who knowst a lenient hand to lay, I That fir'd the Chian rhapsodist to chant Sostest on sorrow's wounds, and slowly | How vied the bowmen for Ulysses' dame,
And him of Rome to sing how Atalant (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
Plied, dart in hand, the suitor-slaughtering The faint pang stealest unperceiv'd away:
game, On thee I rest my only hopes at last; And think, when thou hast dried the bitter
Till the bright gold, bowid forth along the
Betray'd her to a spouse, and stopp That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
bounding lass. I may look back on many a sorrow past, And greet life's peaceful evening with a
But lo! from bosom of yon southern der As some lone bird, at day's departing hour, | I see the chariot come which Pindar bort Sings in the sunshine of the transient show'r, I see the swans, whose white necks, archi Forgetful, though its wings lie wet the while.
proud, But ah! what ille must that poor heart endure, Glitter with golden yoke, approach my share Who hopes from thee, and thee alone a cure. For me they comeO Phæbus, potent gw
Spare, spare me now-Enough, good kier
no moreA little spark I ask'd in moderation,
Why scorch me'ev'n to death with bere WILLIAM TENNANT.
EXTRACTS FROM ANSTER-FAIR.
TRE APPARITION OF PICK
HERE broke the lady her soliloquy. While some of Troy and pettish heroes sing, For in a twink her pot of mustard. And some of Rome, and chiefs of pious fame, Self-mov'd, like Jove's wheelid steel And some of men that thought it harmless
rolle on high thing
TGan caper on her table to and fro, To emite off' heads in Mars's bloody game, And hopp'd and fidgeted before her of And some of Eden's garden gay with spring, Spontaneous, here and there, a von And Hell's dominions terrible to name,
show I sing a theme far livelier, happier, gladder, As leaps, instinct with mercury, a bila I sing of ANSTER-Fair and bonny MAGGIE So leaps the mustard-pot of bonnie L LAUDER.