« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
With trampling horses and refulgent cars, | That wakes the breeze, the sparkling Soon to be swallow'd by the briny surge; Doth hurry to the lawn;
(lymph Or cast, for lingering death, on unknown She, who inspires that strain of joyance strands;
[ancholy,? Or caught amid a whirl of desert sands, which the sweet Bird, misnamed the mel. An Army now, and now a living hill Pours forth in shady groves, shall plead That a brief while heaves with convulsive
for me; throes,
And vernal mornings opening bright Then all is still;
With yiews of undefin'd delight, Or, to forget their madness and their woes, And cheerful songs, and suns that shine Wrapt in a winding-sheet of spotless On busy days, with thankful nights, be snows!
VII. Back flows the willing current of my Song: But thou, O Goddess! in thy favourite If to provoke such doom the Impious dare, (Freedom's impregnable redoubt, [Isle, Why should it daunt a blameless prayer? The wide Earth’s store-house fenced Bold Goddess! range our Youth among;
about Nor let thy genuine impulse fail to beat With breakers roaring to the gales In hearts no longer young:
That stretch a thousand thousand sails,) Still may a veteran Few have pride Quicken the slothful, and exalt the vile! In thoughts whose sternness makes them Thy impulse is the life of Fame; sweet;
Glad Hope would almost cease to be In fix'd resolves by Reason justified; If torn from thy society; That to their object cleave like sleet And Love, when worthiest of his name, Whitening a pine tree's northern side, Is proud to walk the Earth with Thee! When fields are naked far and wide, And wither'd leaves, from earth's cold breast
Yes, it was the mountain Echo, Up-caught in whirlwinds, nowhere can
Solitary, clear, profound, find rest.
Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, VI.
Giving to her sound for sound! But, if such homage thou disdain
Unsolicited reply As doth with mellowing years agree,
To a babbling wanderer sent; One rarely absent from thy train
Like her ordinary cry,
Like, - but, 0, how different!
Ilears not also mortal Life? -
Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! And to the solitary fawn
Slaves of folly, love, or strife Vouchsafes her lessons, bounteous Nymph Voices of two different natures?
Have not we too?- yes, we have
17 So Milton, in Il Penseroso, addressing
A melancholy bird ! O, idle thought ! In Nature there is nothing melancholy."
Such rebounds our inward ear
THE EGYPTIAN MAID;
OR, THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER-LILY. 8 [For the names and persons in the following poem, see the “ History of the re. nowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beau. tiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.]
WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Yet was she work of mortal hands,
Soft was the wind that landward blew;
Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,
Upon this winged Shape so fair
Was ever built with patient care;
Now, though a Mechanist whose skill
Was subject to a freakish will
Provoked to envious spleen, he cast
Anon the breeze became a blast,
8 This poem rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew, Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water-Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words, it would never have been written. - Author's Notes.
With thrilling word, and potent sign
By Fiends of aspect more malign;
But worthy of the name she bore
Behold, how wantonly she laves
Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves
But Ocean under magic heaves,
The storm has stripp'd her of her leaves;
Grieve for her, she deserves no less;
Though pitied, feel her own distress;
Yet is there cause for gushing tears,
A lovely One, who nothing hears
a meek and guileless Maiden. Into a cave had Merlin fled From mischief caused by spells himself had mutter'd; And while, repentant all too late, In moody posture there he sate,
He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised head, A Visitant by whom these words were utter'd:
“ On Christian service this frail Bark
The old Egyptian's emblematic mark
Her course was for the British strand;
Done to the Princess, and her Land,
And to Caerleon's loftiest tower
To grace that Stranger's bridal hour,
Shame! should a Child of royal line
“What boots,” continued she,“ to mourn ?
May yet to Arthur's Court be borne,
My pearly Boat, a shining Light,
The very swiftest of thy cars
And, if that fail, consult the Stars
Or like a steed, without a rein,
Soon did the gentle Nina reach
But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach
Sad relique, but how fair the while !
Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile
No quest was hers of vague desire,
Unmarr'd, unstripp'd of her attire,
Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,
And in the pearly shallop placed,
the air, and stillid the ocean.
And Nina heard a sweeter voice
Go, in thy enterprise rejoice!