While stagnant spirits, thick’ning as they spread,
O'er the cold heart, crawls slow, the living lead.
What though the eye's prompt ray keen lightning dart?
'Tis fruitless :—loos'ning fibres l'ame the heart.
ANGER is pride provok'd beyond control,
When some felt insult fires the smarting soul:
Then the will's warmth, repelling fancied shame
Strings the nerves hard, and bid's the eye-balls flame;
Then marks of menace air and face deform;
And short, thick breathings paint the infelt storm.
PITY is active sense of alien grief;
Think some dear dying sufferer begs relief :
Aidful idea springs to succor woe,
And every quivering sinew learns to glow,
While mild as seeming saints, the sadd'ning face
Flows into anguish with relenting grace.
SCORN is cold anger, careless and at ease;
Calm sense of wrongs too harmless to displease;
Bold in undoubted safety, 'twould disclaim
Defiance, and with proud remission flame.
Now smiles, now frowns,-yet both with eye serene;
And lets the nerves play loose with painless spleen.
HATRED is sullen fury long retain'd;
"Tis willing mischief warily restrain'd:
This to paint strong the back brac'd nerves should toil
In fetter'd strain and heave in curv'd recoil;
While, with impatient frown, th' averted eye
Shuns the loath'd object it disdains too nigh.
Pain-seeking JEALOUSY feels doubtful rage,
Which trustful pity struggles to assuage;
Thence frets uncertain pain, with pensive glow,
And look and action share divided woe.
Sad, in the face, the heart's felt softness reigns,
While each tugg'd sinew angry vengeance strains.
WONDER is curious fear-suppose by night,
Some pale met spectre cross'd the moon's dim light.
Sudden the back'ning blood, retreating swift,
Swells the press'd heart :--each fibre fails to lift ;
Lost in short pause arrested motion lies,
And sense climbs doubtful to the straining eyes.
Love is at once intense and slack desire ;
There hope inflames, while reverence cools the fire. Fear of repulse, bold sense of joy withdraws; Looks in each accent; and each movement awes. Soft, earnest looks breathe o'er th' inclining face, And sinewy transport borrows shade from grace.
THE PIGEON.
A translation from Anacreon. WHENCE, O lovely pigeon, say Swiftly thus you wing your way; Whence, smooth gliding thro' the air, Such rich perfumes do you bear, Wide around thee, which you fling, From your odor-dropping wing?
Stranger, tell me who art thou,
Why wouldst thou delay me now?
Me to go Anacreon bade,
Quickly to his beauteous maid,
She whose magic glances dart
Love to each beholder's heart.
Venus for a little lay
Sold me to the bard away.
Gladly I, as you observe,
Thus my
lov'd Anacreon serve;
Often does he say to me,
Soon, my bird, I'll set thee free.
Should he set me free to day,
Yet I'd choose with him to stay.
How could I endure to roye
D'er the mountain, thro' the grove;
Perching in each shady wood;
Eating there my rustic food?
Now I can partake of bread
On his bounteous table spread.
Peck it too in pastime bland
From Anaceron's willing hand.
Free he gives me too to sup
Wine from out his mantling cup;
And I drink with him—and gay
Give myself to sport and play;
Round him fly in wanton rings,
Or I shade him with my wings;
Then when slumbers o'er me creep,
Sweetly on his lyre I sleep.
You have all ;-now, stranger, go.-
I have chattered like a crow.
WINTER.
From the French of J. B. Rousseau.
YE who with hasty pencil dare,
The father of the storm depaint
In guise of age, bow'd down with care,
And slow, and languishing, and faint;
Ah tremble at the chast'ning rod
Of the inexorable god.
What can his wrath assuage ?
Terror he to heaven can bear;
Titanian might cannot compare,
With the least effort of his rage. Stronger than Alcmena's son,
By him the headlong streams are bound; The fury of his breath alone,
Can shake the solid ground.
Over earth, at his command,
Unchain'd, the raging north winds rove; He stays the threat'ning thunder brand, Pois'd in the hand of Jove.
But tho', when comes thy threat'ning hour,
We sometimes tremble at thy power;
Thy advent still with joy we greet,
Parent of joy and leisure sweet.
Hearts long disjoin'd 'tis thine to reunite ;
Dispel the anxious sigh, the moping spleen ;
To festive joys and sparkling bowls invite ;
And wake with raptures new the mimic scene.
The loveliest seasons seasons are of pain,
But thine the season of the laughing pleasures ;— Let Flora of her painted flowers be yain,
And jolly Bacchus boast his purple treasures ; Let yellow Ceres show her frequent heapsWinter, thy hand their golden harvests reaps.
The gods that rule the wave, the sky;
The sun, the earth, the air,
All labor, as the seasons fly,
Thy triumph to prepare.
It is thy hand alone can join,
Bacchus, Love, Hilarity;
Powers, whose pleasures ne'er combine,
But, Winter, when they reign with thee.
HYELLA.
From the Latin of Andreas Naugerius.
As Hyella once wandered thro' spice-blooming bowers,
Aud wove with the lily the odorous rose;
Young Cupid she caught as he lurk'd mid the flowers,
And bound with the wreaths, which those flowers compose.
He struggled at first, and with fluttering wing,
His chains strove to loosen-but when on his sight From her bosom of snow flash'd the beauties of spring;
From her features such charms as the gods might delight;
When he breath'd the perfumes, from her tresses that flew,
Such as happy Arabia breathes from each grove ;
"Go seek a new boy," he cries, " mother, adieu !
The breast of Hyella 's the station of love."
THE PENITENT.
From the French.
THE lady finish'd her confessions,
And straight, to punish her transgressions,
Behind the altar, which was nigh,
The priest had dragg'd her silently,
And 'gan to strip her there no doubt
To whip those vile transgressions out.
Her spouse, who hidden near the place,
Had pitied much her woful case,
Came forth from out his secret station,
Proffering for her, in commutation,
His breech and back for flaggellation.
į
Her husband's aid, so kindly proffer'd,
His wife accepted soon as offer'd.
"My fears and weakness," cried the dame,
"Are great, they fill my heart with shame
But spouse is of a sterner mood,
Endued with strength and hardihood;
Then lay on well, my dear Confessor;
You know I am a great transgressor !”
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