Poems 1817 | Page 5

bleak promontory
Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory.
Amid the pages, and the torches' glare,
There stood a knight, patting
the flowing hair
Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal
A man of
elegance, and stature tall:
So that the waving of his plumes would be

High as the berries of a wild ash tree,
Or as the winged cap of
Mercury.
His armour was so dexterously wrought
In shape, that
sure no living man had thought
It hard, and heavy steel: but that
indeed
It was some glorious form, some splendid weed,
In which a
spirit new come from the skies
Might live, and show itself to human
eyes.
'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert,
Said the good man
to Calidore alert;
While the young warrior with a step of grace

Came up,--a courtly smile upon his face,
And mailed hand held out,
ready to greet
The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat
Of the
aspiring boy; who as he led
Those smiling ladies, often turned his
head
To admire the visor arched so gracefully
Over a knightly brow;
while they went by
The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were
pendent,
And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated;
The sweet-lipp'd ladies
have already greeted
All the green leaves that round the window
clamber,
To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.
Sir
Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel,
Gladdening in the free, and
airy feel
Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond

Is looking round
about him with a fond,
And placid eye, young Calidore is burning

To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning
Of all unworthiness;
and how the strong of arm
Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm

From lovely woman: while brimful of this,
He gave each damsel's

hand so warm a kiss,
And had such manly ardour in his eye,
That
each at other look'd half staringly;
And then their features started into
smiles
Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles.
Softly the breezes from the forest came,
Softly they blew aside the
taper's flame;
Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower;

Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;
Mysterious, wild, the
far heard trumpet's tone;
Lovely the moon in ether, all alone:
Sweet
too the converse of these happy mortals,
As that of busy spirits when
the portals
Are closing in the west; or that soft humming
We hear
around when Hesperus is coming.
Sweet be their sleep. * * * * * * *
* *
TO SOME LADIES.
What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your
light, mazy footsteps attend;
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,

Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend:
Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes,
With you,
kindest friends, in idea I rove;
Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its
passionate gushes,
Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.
Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling?
Why breathless,
unable your bliss to declare?
Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender
condoling,
Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air.
'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,
I see you are
treading the verge of the sea:
And now! ah, I see it--you just now are
stooping
To pick up the keep-sake intended for me.
If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending,
Had brought me a gem
from the fret-work of heaven;
And smiles, with his star-cheering
voice sweetly blending,
The blessings of Tighe had melodiously
given;

It had not created a warmer emotion
Than the present, fair nymphs, I
was blest with from you, Than the shell, from the bright golden sands
of the ocean
Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw.
For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure,
(And blissful is he who
such happiness finds,)
To possess but a span of the hour of leisure,

In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.
ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL, AND A COPY OF
VERSES,
FROM THE SAME LADIES.
Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Pure as the ice-drop
that froze on the mountain?
Bright as the humming-bird's green
diadem,
When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain?
Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?
That goblet right heavy,
and massy, and gold?
And splendidly mark'd with the story divine

Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?
Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?
Hast thou a sword that
thine enemy's smart is?
Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?

And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis?
What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,
Embroidered with
many a spring peering flower?
Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?

And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?
Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd;
Full many
the glories that brighten thy youth!
I will tell thee my blisses, which
richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.
On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sun-beamy tale of
a wreath, and a chain;
And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare
Of
charming my mind from the trammels of pain.
This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay;
Beneath its rich shade