Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dear was the moment, when the gentle Fair
Gave to my wishes with consenting eyes,
A Lock that sever'd from her lovely hair
Could soften all my bosom into sighs!

And dear those moments that so sweetly stole
A pang from absence, and impell'd my lyre
To wake the fond emotions of the soul,
In melting ardours and a poet's fire!

Then Fancy stream'd her visions on the Muse,
And many a transitory form portray'd,
[illeg.] aërial sylphs in vivid hues,
And bade their little wings the Lock o'ershade.

210

But quick their fluid shapes dissolve in air,
And other beings rise, as Fancy wills—
Lo drawn by turtles in her ivory car,
Appears the goddess of the Paphian hills!

And thus: “That ringlet to my power resign—
“For, from its kindred tresses tho' in part,
“To give it brighter beauties shall be mine,
“With all the skill of imitative art.

“What tho' the fam'd Belinda's ravisht hair
“May add new glory to the distant skies;
“Yet shall thy Laura's Lock eclipse the star
“That vainly shoots, and kindles as it flies!”

She said—and from my hand the ringlet caught,
And sudden to my wondering sight display'd
Thy gift, my Laura, to a portrait wrought,
With all the varied charms of light and shade!

211

And “Here,” she cried, (while round the fluttering Loves
“Breath'd on the roseate cheeks their softest blooms)
Behold a nymph, more gentle than my doves,
“Or zephyr, sighing 'midst my Cyprian glooms!

See the pure spirit of a native grace
“To all her mien a lovelier air impart!
And see that meek expression of a face
“Where in each genuine look we read the heart!

These speaking eyes a charm from nature steal
“Which vainly would the rhetor's powers supply;
For ah, more sweetly-eloquent we feel
“The language of the never-silent eye!

Nor let her Attic robe escape thy view
“That no vain-tinsell'd pageantry betrays—
Such as the pencil of Apelles drew,
“And Grecian virgins wore, in ancient days!

212

“'Twas then the spirit of this nymph divine
“Shone, to Electra's Bard, in golden dreams;
“As oft he woo'd the favours of the Nine
“Amidst the murmur of Ilyssus' streams.

“But ah—how long—how heavily opprest
“While Athens moulder'd into dust, she lay—
“With Gothic darkness brooding o'er her breast,
“That gloom'd the sweetness of her soul away!

“If e'er the Bards of Arno's oliv'd vale
“A wild note warbled to the pensive maid,
“Full soon, unheeding the degenerate tale,
“She fled, with many a sigh, from Pisa's shade.

“Next, in her favourite isle, the harp she strung—
“The British minstrels triumph'd, as she came—
“Hail'd her—divine Simplicity; and sung
“With all Aonia's harmony, her name.

213

“Mark then her lovely form as pictur'd here
“She gives to zephyr her Æolian shell;
“And see that root-inwoven shrine, that near
“Yon sycamore's broad shadow, crowns the dell.

“Glares round its pedestal no quaint design;
“Nor aught that meretricious art can boast:
“To Nature rear'd, the unaspiring shrine
“Appears, ‘while unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.’

“Lo there she bids, arrang'd with happiest taste,
“The primrose and the violet sweet diffuse
“Their mingled breath, and blend in union chaste
“Their colours sprinkled by the twilight dews:

“While my soft star, that loves, each evening hour,
“To hover o'er the stillness of the dale,
“Thro' the green sycamore, itself a bower,
“On the rude altar, sheds a lustre pale.

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“No spicy clouds thence mingle with the skies;
“Her humbler offering are yon' vernal wreaths:
“And all the incense of her sacrifice,
“Is but the incense that a field-flower breathes!”

She spoke, and gave the picture to my care;
And in the rich possession call'd me blest!
And place it next thy heart (she cried) for there—
“That heaving sigh already tells the rest!

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“Go then—where imitation's utmost art
“Has faintly copied (tho' employ'd by me)
“The bright original that fires thy heart,
“Go—and the living form in Laura see!”