Iacchus! but in came boy Cupid the smiler;
Lo! Phoebus the glorious descends from his throne !
They advance, they float in, the Olympians all !
With divinities fills my
Terrestrial hall!
How shall I yield you
Due entertainment,
Celestial quire?
Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance
Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joy
That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre!
Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul!
O give me the nectar!
O fill me the bowl!
Give him the nectar!
Pour out for the poet,
Hebe ! pour free!
Quicken his eyes with celestial dew,
That Styx the detested no more he may view,
And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be!
Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Pæan, I cry!
The wine of the Immortals
IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK-
VERSE INSCRIPTIONS.
NEAR the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound,
Where "sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant bed--
O humbly press that consecrated ground!
For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain !
And there his spirit most delights to rove:
Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain,
And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.
Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide, And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, His manhood blossomed till the faithless pride Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue! Where'er with wildered step she wandered pale, Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view,
Still Edmund's voice accused her in each gale. With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms, Amid the pomp of affluence she pined;
Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund's arms
Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.
Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught:
Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth,
May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
for Love or Truth.
A SWORDED man whose trade is blood,
In grief, in anger, and in fear,
Thro' jungle, swamp, and torrent flood,
I seek the wealth you hold so dear!
The dazzling charm of outward form,
The power of gold, the pride of birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm-
Usurp'd the place of inward worth.
Is not true Love of higher price
Than outward Form, tho' fair to see,
Wealth's glittering fairy-dome of ice,
Or echo of proud ancestry?-
O! Asra, Asra! couldst thou see
Into the bottom of my heart,
There's such a mine of Love for thee,
As almost might supply desert!
(This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear; O! take my life, or let me pass
That life, that happy life, with her!)
The perils, erst with steadfast eye
Encounter'd, now I shrink to see-
Oh! I have heart enough to die-
Not half enough to part from Thee!
To know, to esteem, to love-and then to part,
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!
O for some dear abiding-place of Love,
O'er which my spirit, like the mother dove,
Might brood with warming wings!-O fair as kind,
Were but one sisterhood with you combined,
(Your very image they in shape and mind)
Far rather would I sit in solitude,
The forms of memory all my mental food,
And dream of you, sweet sisters, (ah, not mine!)
And only dream of you (ah dream and pine!)
Than have the presence, and partake the pride,
And shine in the eye of all the world beside!
THE PANG MORE SHARP THAN ALL.
HE too has flitted from his secret nest,
Hope's last and dearest Child without a name !—
Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,
That makes false promise of a place of rest
To the tir'd Pilgrim's still believing mind ;-
Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,
Who having won all guerdons in his sport,
Glides out of view, and whither none can find!
Yes! He hath flitted from me---with what aim, Or why, I know not! 'Twas a home of bliss, And He was innocent, as the pretty shame
Of babe, that tempts and shuns the menaced kiss,
From its twy-cluster'd hiding place of snow!.
Pure as the babe, I ween, and all aglow
As the dear hopes, that swell the mother's breast---
Her eyes down gazing o'er her clasped charge ;---
Yet gay as that twice happy father's kiss,
That well might glance aside, yet never miss,
Where the sweet mark emboss'd so sweet a targe---
Twice wretched he who hath been doubly blest!
Like a loose blossom on a gusty night
He flitted from me---and has left behind
(As if to them his faith he ne'er did plight)
Of either sex and answerable mind
Two playmates, twin-births of his foster-dame :-
The one a steady lad (Esteem he hight)
And Kindness is the gentler sister's name.
Dim likeness now, tho' fair she be and good
Of that bright Boy who hath us all forsook ;---
But in his full-eyed aspect when she stood,
And while her face reflected every look,
And in reflection kindled---she became
So like Him, that almost she seem'd the same!
Ah! He is gone, and yet will not depart !---
Is with me still, yet I from Him exil'd!
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