« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Round all the confines of the yielded waist
O ye! who loved our grandmothers of yore,
[will Thou ghost of Q- -! whose judging sprite Satan may spare to peep a single night, Pronounce-if ever in your days of bliss Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this; To teach the young ideas how to rise, Flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes ;
In Turkey a pertinent-here an impertinent and superfluous, question-literally put, as in the text, by a Persian to Morier, On seeing a waltz in Pera.-Vide Morier's Travelse,
Rush to the heart, and lighten through the frame,
But ye_who never felt a single thought
Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme?
TO JESSY. The following Stanzas were addressed to his Lady,
a few months before their separation. THERE is a mystic thread of life
So dearly wreath'd with mine alone, That Destiny's relentless knife
At once must sever both or none. There is a form on which these eyes
Have often gazed with fond delight By day that form their joy supplies,
And dreams restore it through the night. There is a voice whose tones inspire
Such thrills of rapture through my breastI would not hear a seraph choir
Unless that voice could join the rest. There is a face whose blushes tell
Affection's tale upon the cheekBut pallid at one fond farewell,
Proclaims more love than words can speakThere is a lip, which mine hath prest,
And none had ever prest before; It vowed to make me sweetly blest,
And mine-mine only, prest it more. There is a bosom—all my own
Hath pillow'd oft this aching head; A mouth which smiles on me alone,
An eye whose tears with mine are shed. There are two hearts whose movements thrill
In unison so closely sweet;
That both must heave-or cease to beat.
In gentle streams so calmly run,
They cannot part-those souls are one.
THE FOLLOWING LINES Were written extempore to his friend T. Moore, Esq.
the author of Lalla Rookh.
And my bark is on the sea;
go, TOM MOORE,
And a smile to those who hate;
Here's a heart for every fate.
It hath springs that may be won.
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
"Tis to thee that I would drink.
The libation I would pour
And a health to thee, TOM MOORE!
MORS JANUA VITÆ. WOULD you get to the house thro' the true gate,
Much quicker than ever Whig Charley went, Let Parliament send you to NewgateAnd Newgate will send you to-Parlianient.
Il sjang '
ADIEU TO MALTA. ADIEU, the joys of La Valette ; Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat; Adieu, thou palace, rarely entered; Adieu, ye mansions, where I've ventured ; Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs-How surely he who mounts them swears! Adieu, ye merchants, often failing; Adieu, thou mob, for ever railing ; Adieu, ye packets without letters; Adieu, ye fools, who ape your betters ; Adieu, thou damn'dest quarantine, That gave me fever and the spleen; ? Adieu, that stage which makes us yawn, sirs; Adieu, his excellency's dancers; Adieu, to Peter, whom no fault's in, But could not teach a colonel waltzing ; Adieu, ye females, fraught with graces; Adieu, red coats, and redder faces; Adieu, the supercilious air, Of all that strut en militaire; I gombut God knows where or whyTo smoky towns and cloudy sky; To things, the honest truth to say, As bad, but in a different way: Farewell to these, but not adieu Triumphant sons of truest blue, While either Adriatic shore, And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, And nightly smiles, and daily dinners, Proclaim you war and women's winners. Ju Pardon my musé, who apt to prate is, ir And take my rhyme because 'tis gratis: 10 And now I've got to Mrs. FRASER, ILL! Perhaps you think I mean to praise her;