And bade them bloom, the flowers divine
Of him who sheds the teeming vine;
And bade them on the spangled thorn
Expand their bosoms to the morn.
BEST of painters! now dispense
All thy tinted eloquence:
Master of the roseate art,
Paint the mistress of my heart.
Paint her, absent though she be,
Paint her, as described by me.
Paint her hair in tresses flowing:
Black as jet her ringlets glowing:
If the pallet soar so high,
Paint their humid fragrancy.
Let the colour smoothly show
The gentle prominence of brow;
Smooth as ivory let it shine,
Under locks of glossy twine.
Now her eyebrows lengthening bend;
Neither sever them, nor blend :
Imperceptible the space
Of their meeting arches trace:
Be the picture like the maid;
Her dark eyelids fringed with shade.
Now the real glance inspire;
Let it dart a liquid fire:
Let her eyes reflect the day,
Like Minerva's, hazel-gray,
Like those of Venus, swimming bright,
Brimful of moisture and of light.
Now her faultless nose design
In its flowing aquiline:
Let her cheeks transparent gleam,
Like to roses strew'd in cream:
Let her lips, seduce to bliss,
Pouting to provoke the kiss.
Now her chin minute express,
Rounded into prettiness:
There let all the Graces play;
In that dimpled circle stray;
Round her bended neck delay:
Marble pillar, on the sight
Shedding smooth its slippery white.
For the rest, let drapery swim
In purplish folds o'er every limb;
But, with flimsy texture, show
The shape, the skin, that partial glow:
Enough-herself appears; 'tis done;
The picture breathes; the paint will speak anon.
CUPID once upon a bed
Of roses laid his weary head;
Luckless urchin, not to see
Within the leaves a slumbering bee!
The bee awaked-with anger wild
The bee awak J, and stung the child.
Loud and piteous are his cries;
To Venus quick he runs, he flies!
'Oh mother! I am wounded through-
I die with pain-in sooth I do!
Stung by some little angry thing,
Some serpent on a tiny wing-
A bee it was-for once, I know
I heard a rustic call it so.'
Thus he spoke, and she the while
Heard him with a soothing smile;
Then said, "My infant, if so much
Thou feel the little wild bee's touch,
How must the heart, oh, Cupid! be,
The hapless heart that's stung by thee!'
FLY not, because revolving time
Hath silver'd o'er Anacreon's brow, Nor, glorying in thy flowery prime, Reject the incense of his vow!
Think'st thou my winter ill agrees
With the young charms thy spring discloses ? Remember, how those garlands please, Where lilies mingle with the roses!
SAD Niobe, in cold despair,
Was fix'd a stone on Phrygia's shore :
And through the boundless fields of air
'Twas given Pandion's child to soar.
But I, a different change requiring,
Make every vow for thee, my fair;
Sometimes a mirror's form desiring,
Thine image on my breast to bear;
Or, as a robe, with soft embraces,
About thy snowy limbs to fold;
Or, as a crystal stream, thy graces
In mine encircling arms to hold;
A golden chain, with many a kiss
Around thy snowy neck to twine;
Or on thy breast, that heaven of bliss
And love, a radiant pearl to shine :
Or with an humbler fate delighted,
A sandal for thy feet I'd be:
Trampled upon, neglected, slighted,
Even this would be felicity.
FROM THE GREEK OF SAPPHO.
BLESS'D as the immortal Gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee, all the while,
Softly speak and sweetly smile.
"Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast;
For, while I gazed, in transport toss'd,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost;
My bosom glow'd; the subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd;
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulse forgot to play;
I fainted, sunk, and died away.
FROM THE GREEK OF SAPPHO.
O VENUS, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles:
O goddess, from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.
If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferr'd,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
Oh, gentle goddess! hear me now:
Descend, thou bright immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confess'd.
Thou once didst leave almighty Jove,
And all the golden roofs above,
The car thy wanton sparrows drew:
Hovering in air they lightly flew :
As to my bower they wing'd their way
I saw their quivering pinions play.
The birds dismiss'd (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again :
Then you, with looks divinely mild,
In every heavenly feature smiled,
And ask'd what new complaints I made,
And why I call'd you to my aid :
What frenzy in my bosom raged,
And by what cure to be assuaged,
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure :
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