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Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change, Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.
So when I am in a voluptuous vein,
I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,
And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Adieu! valiant Eric! with joy thou art crowned,
I too have my blisses, which richly abound
Hadst thou lived in days of old,
Full, and round like globes that rise
From the censer to the skies
Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness
Of thy honied voice; the neatness
Of thine ancle lightly turn'd:
With those beauties scarce discern'd,
Kept with such sweet privacy,
That they seldom meet the eye
Of the little Loves that fly
Round about with eager pry.
Saving when with freshening lave,
Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
Like twin water-lilies, born
In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
Now the Muses had been ten.
Couldst thou wish for lineage higher
Than twin-sister of Thalia?
At least for ever, evermore
Will I call the Graces four.
Hadst thou lived when chivalry
Lifted up her lance on high,
Tell me what thou wouldst have been?
Ah! I see the silver sheen
Of thy broider'd-floating vest
Covering half thine ivory breast:
Which, O Heavens! I should see,
But that cruel Destiny
Has placed a golden cuirass there,
Keeping secret what is fair.
Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested,
Thy locks in knightly casque are rested:
O'er which bend four milky plumes,
Like the gentle lily's blooms
Springing from a costly vase.
See with what a stately pace
Comes thine alabaster steed;
Servant of heroic deed!
O'er his loins, his trappings glow
Like the northern lights on snow.
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my " mind's eye " flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him, as the morning frightens night!
Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair, O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country's honour fade!
O let me see our land retain her soul!
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed—
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!
Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
But let me see thee stoop from Heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!
And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.
IMITATION OF SPENSER.
Now morning from her orient chamber came
There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle,
And all around it dipp'd luxuriously