« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Hours of %dleness.
WRITTEN FROM 1802 TO 1807.
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,11
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp, Hush's are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb,
True, she has forced thee from my breast, And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Yet in my heart thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
And when the grave restores her dead, Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd.
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I'll lay my head Ob! could that King of Terrors pity feel,
Without thee, where would be my heaven? Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate.
LINES But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND And weeping angels lead her to those bowers
AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN : BY J. J. ROUSSEAU : Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. FOUNDED ON FACTS.”
"Away, away, your flattering arts And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign,
May now betray some simpler hearts: And, madly, godlike Providence accuse?
And you will smile at their believing, Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain ;
And they shall weep at your deceiving." I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED
TO MISS — Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
From which thou’dst guard frail female hearts, Still they call forth my warm affection's tear,
Exist but in imagination
Mere phantoms of thine own creation :
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee :
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance,
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such praises, To love, than rank with vice combined.
But envy in the other raises :
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery-'tis truth.
Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;
IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.
“Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.”--Lib. iv.
CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease (1) Admiral Parker's daughter.
| Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please ? (2) The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than perhaps any other in the collection ; but as it was written at an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the acre of fourteen), and his first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in its present state, to making either addition or alteration,
| By death alone I can avoid your hate.