HOURS OF IDLENESS. WRITTEN FROM 1802 TO 1807. ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,*| COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM.† HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Not e'en a zephyr wanders through the grove, Whilst I return, to view my Margaret's tomb, And scatter flowers on the dust I love. Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay where once such animation beam'd; The King of Terrors seized her as his prey: Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem'd. Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate. But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; And weeping angels lead her to those bowers Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign, And, madly, godlike Providence accuse? Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. Yet envy not this gaudy state; TO D-. IN thee I fondly hoped to clasp Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath, Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death! Could tears retard the tyrant in his course; The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie, What though thy sire lament his failing line, A FRAGMENT. WHEN, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice: When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! [stone; Shades of heroes, farewell; your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu ! Abroad, or at home, your remembrance impart ing New courage, he'll think upon glory and you Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret; Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. That fame and that memory still will he cherish He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown: Like you will he live, or like you will he perish: When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own. LINES AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN BY J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED ON FACTS.' No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd WRITTEN IN LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN ON LEAVING NEWSTEAD ABBEY. Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou Jokest from thy tower to-day; yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes, it howls in thy empty court.'-OSSIAN. THROUGH thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle; Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay; In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle Lin the way. Have choked up the rose which late bloom'd Of the mail-cover'd Barons, who proudly to battle Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain, [blast rattle, The escutcheon and shield, which with every Are the only sad vestiges now that remain. No more doth old Robert, with heart-stringing numbers, [wreath; Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurell'd Near Askalon's towers John of Horistan slumbers, Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death. Paul and Hubert, too, sleep in the valley of Cressy; [fell: For the safety of Edward and England they My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye; How you fought, how you died, still her annals can tell. On Marston, with Rupert, 'gainst traitors contending,* Four brothers enrich'd with their blood the bleak field; Ling. For the rights of a monarch their country defendTill death their attachment to royalty seal'd. Marston Moor, where the adherents of Charles 1. were lefeated.-Prince Rupert, son of the Elector Palatine, and nepliew to Charles L. He afterwards commanded the fleet in he reign of Charles II Away, away, your flattering arts May now betray some simpler hearts: ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED DEAR, simple girl, those flattering arts Mere phantoms of thine own creation : ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOU AH! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, To what unknown region borne, TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS EQUAL to Jove that youth must be- Animula vagula, blandula, Who, free from Jealousy's alarms, I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die : TRANSLATION OF THE EPITAPH ON VIRGIL AND TIBULLUS. BY DOMITIUS MARSUS. HE who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, And he who struck the softer lyre of love, By Death's unequal hand alike controll'd, Fit comrades in Elysian regions move! IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. 'Sulpicia ad Cerinthum.'-Lib. iv. CRUEL Cerinthus ! does the fell disease Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please? Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain, That I might live for love and you again: But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate; By death alone I can avoid your hate. TRANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. [Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, &c.] Whom dearer than her eyes she loved : But lightly o'er her bosom moved : From whom no earthly power can save, For thou hast ta'en the bird away : From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow Thou art the cause of all her woe, Receptacle of life's decay. IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. TO ELLEN. OH! might I kiss those eyes of fire, TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. [Justum et tenacem propositi virum, &c.] Would awe his fix'd, determined mind in vain Ay, and the red right arm of Jove, He would unmoved, unawed behold. Again in crashing chaos roll'd, smile. Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd FROM ANACREON. I WISH to tune my quivering lyre All, all in vain; my wayward lyre FROM ANACREON. [Μεσονυκτίαις ποθ' ώραις, κ. τ. λ.] "TWAS now the hour when Night had driven Her car half round yon sable heaven; Boötes, only, seem'd to roll His arctic charge around the pole : Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?' FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS. [Μηδαμ' ὁ πάντα νέμων, κ. τ. λ.] GREAT Jove, to whose almighty throne In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall; My voice shall raise no impious strain, 'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main. How different now thy joyless fate, Since first Hesione thy bride, When placed aloft in godlike state, The blushing beauty by thy side, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled, And mirthful strains the hours beguiled. The Nymphs and Tritons danced around. Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd. ΤΟ ΕΜΜΑ. SINCE now the hour is come at last, When you must quit your anxious lover; Since now car dream of bliss is past, One pang, my girl, and all is over. Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Well! we have pass'd some happy hours, Where from this Gothic casement's height, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, It dared to give your slumbering eyes: In which I row'd you o'er the lake; This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew ; This is of love the final close, O God! the fondest, last adieu! TO M. S. G. WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss. For that would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet I conceal my love-and why? I would not force a painful tear. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortured heart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love. TO CAROLINE. THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, In sighs alone it breathed my name. Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret ; TO CAROLINE. WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. Yet still this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sere; That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring, [tear; Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining [the breeze, Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. 'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, [decree, Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of His creatures, [of me. In the death which one day will deprive you Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; He worships each look with such faithful devotion, A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us, [sympathy glow, And our breasts, which alive with such Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake [low,When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, [flow: Which from passion like ours may unceasingly Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full us, measure, And quaff the contents as our nectar below. |