Poems 1817 | Page 9

trembling through and
through:
Or the coy moon, when in the waviness
Of whitest clouds
she does her beauty dress,
And staidly paces higher up, and higher,

Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire?
Ah, yes! much more would start
into his sight--
The revelries, and mysteries of night:
And should I
ever see them, I will tell you
Such tales as needs must with
amazement spell you.
These are the living pleasures of the bard:
But richer far posterity's
award.
What does he murmur with his latest breath,
While his
proud eye looks through the film of death?
"What though I leave this
dull, and earthly mould,
Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold

With after times.--The patriot shall feel
My stern alarum, and
unsheath his steel;
Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers
To
startle princes from their easy slumbers.
The sage will mingle with
each moral theme
My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem

With lofty periods when my verses fire him,
And then I'll stoop from

heaven to inspire him.
Lays have I left of such a dear delight
That
maids will sing them on their bridal night.
Gay villagers, upon a morn
of May
When they have tired their gentle limbs, with play,
And
form'd a snowy circle on the grass,
And plac'd in midst of all that
lovely lass
Who chosen is their queen,--with her fine head
Crowned
with flowers purple, white, and red:
For there the lily, and the
musk-rose, sighing,
Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:

Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,
A bunch of violets
full blown, and double,
Serenely sleep:--she from a casket takes
A
little book,--and then a joy awakes
About each youthful heart,--with
stifled cries,
And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:
For
she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears;
One that I foster'd in my
youthful years:
The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,

Gush ever and anon with silent creep,
Lured by the innocent dimples.
To sweet rest
Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,
Be lull'd
with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!
Thy dales, and hills, are fading
from my view:
Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,
Far
from the narrow bounds of thy dominions.
Full joy I feel, while thus I
cleave the air,
That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,

And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,
Could I, at
once, my mad ambition smother,
For tasting joys like these, sure I
should be
Happier, and dearer to society.
At times, 'tis true, I've felt
relief from pain
When some bright thought has darted through my
brain:
Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure
Than if I'd
brought to light a hidden treasure.
As to my sonnets, though none else
should heed them,
I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.

Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,

Stretch'd on the grass
at my best lov'd employment
Of scribbling lines for you. These things
I thought
While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
E'en now
I'm pillow'd on a bed of flowers
That crowns a lofty clift, which
proudly towers
Above the ocean-waves. The stalks, and blades,

Chequer my tablet with their, quivering shades.
On one side is a field
of drooping oats,
Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats


So pert and useless, that they bring to mind
The scarlet coats that
pester human-kind.
And on the other side, outspread, is seen

Ocean's blue mantle streak'd with purple, and green.
Now 'tis I see a
canvass'd ship, and now
Mark the bright silver curling round her
prow.
I see the lark down-dropping to his nest.
And the broad
winged sea-gull never at rest;
For when no more he spreads his
feathers free,
His breast is dancing on the restless sea.
Now I direct
my eyes into the west,
Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:

Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu!
'Twas but to kiss my
hand, dear George, to you!
August, 1816.
TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.
Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
And with proud breast
his own white shadow crowning;
He slants his neck beneath the
waters bright
So silently, it seems a beam of light
Come from the
galaxy: anon he sports,--
With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr
courts,
Or ruffles all the surface of the lake
In striving from its
crystal face to take
Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure

In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.
But not a moment can he
there insure them,
Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;
For
down they rush as though they would be free,
And drop like hours
into eternity.
Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whene'er I
venture on the stream of rhyme;
With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and
canvass rent,
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;
Still scooping
up the water with my fingers,
In which a trembling diamond never
lingers.
By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see
Why I have never
penn'd a line to thee:
Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,

And little fit to please a classic ear;
Because my wine was of too
poor a savour

For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour
Of

sparkling Helicon:--small good it