We'll ride at ease,
On the tainted breeze,
And oh! our sport will be divine.
The Goddess of Melancholy advances out of a deep Glen in the rear, habited in Black and covered with a thick Veil-She speaks.
Sister, from my dark abode,
Where nests the raven, sits the toad,
Hither I come, at thy command:
Sister, sister, join thy hand!
Sister, sister, join thy hand!
I will smooth the way for thee,
Thou shalt furnish food for me.
Come, let us speed our way
Where the troops of spectres play
To charnel-houses, church-yards drear,
Where Death sits with a horrible leer,
A lasting grin, on a throne of bones,
And skim along the blue tomb-stones.
Come, let us speed away,
Lay our snares, and spread our tether!
I will smooth the way for thee,
Thou shalt furnish food for me;
And the grass shall wave
O'er many a grave,
Where youth and beauty sleep together.
Come, let us speed our way!
Join our hands, and spread our tether!
I will furnish food for thee,
Thou shalt smooth the way for me;
And the grass shall wave
O'er many a grave,
Where youth and beauty sleep together.
Hist, sister, hist! who comes here?
Oh! I know her by that tear,
By that blue eye's languid glare,
By her skin, and by her hair:
She is mine,
And she is thine,
Now the deadliest draught prepare.
In the dismal night air dress'd,
I will creep into her breast;
Flush her cheek, and bleach her skin,
And feed on the vital fire within.
Lover, do not trust her eyes,-
When they sparkle most, she dies!
Mother, do not trust her breath,-
Comfort she will breathe in death!
Father, do not strive to save her,-
She is mine, and I must have her!
The coffin must be her bridal bed;
The winding-sheet must wrap her head;
The whispering winds must o'er her sigh,
For soon in the grave the maid must lie,
The worm it will riot
On heavenly diet,
When death has deflower'd her eye.
While CONSUMPTION speaks, ANGELINA enters.
With* what a silent and dejected pace
Dost thou, wan Moon! upon thy way advance
In the blue welkin's vault!-Pale wanderer!
Hast thou too felt the pangs of hopeless love,
That thus, with such a melancholy grace,
Thou dost pursue thy solitary course?
Has thy Endymion, smooth-faced boy, forsook
Thy widow'd breast-on which the spoiler oft
Has nestled fondly, while the silver clouds
Fantastic pillow'd thee, and the dim night,
Obsequious to thy will, encurtain❜d round
With its thick fringe thy couch?-Wan traveller,
How like thy fate to mine!-Yet I have still
One heavenly hope remaining, which thou lack'st;
My woes will soon be buried in the grave
Of kind forgetfulness:-my journey here,
Though it be darksome, joyless, and forlorn,
Is yet but short, and soon my weary feet
Will greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest.
But thou, unhappy Queen! art doom'd to trace
*With how sad steps, O moon! thou climb'st the skies, How silently and with how wan a face! Sir P. Sidney
Thy lonely walk in the drear realms of night, While many a lagging age shall sweep beneath The leaden pinions of unshaken time;
Though not a hope shall spread its glittering hue
To cheat thy steps along the weary way.
O that the sum of human happiness
Should be so trifling, and so frail withal,
That when possess'd, it is but lessen'd grief;
And even then there's scarce a sudden gust
That blows across the dismal waste of life,
But bears it from the view.-Oh! who would shun
The hour that cuts from earth, and fear to press
The calm and peaceful pillows of the grave,
And yet endure the various ills of life,
And dark vicissitudes !-Soon, I hope, I feel,
And am assured, that I shall lay my head,
My weary aching head, on its last rest,
And on my lowly bed the grass-green sod
Will flourish sweetly.-And then they will weep
That one so young, and what they're pleased to
call
So beautiful, should die so soon-And tell
How painful Disappointment's canker'd fang
Wither'd the rose upon my maiden cheek,
Oh, foolish ones! why, I shall sleep so sweetly,
Laid in my darksome grave, that they themselves
Might envy me my rest!-And as for them
Who, on the score of former intimacy,
May thus remembrance me-they must themselves
Successive fall.
(When out-a-doors the biting frost congeals,
And shrill the skater's irons on the pool
Ring loud, as by the moonlight he performs
His graceful evolutions) they not long
Shall sit and chat of older times, and feats
Of early youth, but silent, one by one,
Shall drop into their shrouds.-Some, in their age,
Ripe for the sickle; others young, like me,
And falling green beneath th' untimely stroke.
Thus, in short time, in the church-yard forlorn,
Where I shall lie, my friends will lay them down,
And dwell with me, a happy family.
And oh! thou cruel, yet beloved youth,
Who now hast left me hopeless here to mourn,
Do thou but shed one tear upon my corse,
And say that I was gentle and deserved
A better lover, and I shall forgive
All, all thy wrongs;-and then do thou forget
The hapless Margaret, and be as bless'd
[sing, As wish can make thee-Laugh, and play, and With thy dear choice, and never think of me.
Yet hist, I hear a step.-In this dark wood
WRITTEN AT A VERY EARLY AGE.
I've read, my friend, of Dioclesian,
And many other noble Grecian,
Who wealth and palaces resign'd,
In cots the joys of peace to find;
|