Tancred A Tale; And Other Poems. By the Author of Conrad, A Tragedy [i.e. Alfred Bunn] |
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TO MISS O'NEILL |
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TO MISS O'NEILL
Oh, sweet Enchantress! gifted with the artTo soothe, exalt, delight, or wring the heart!
What pen can paint, what breathing language tell,
Thy potent magic, thy resistless spell,
Which subjugates with strong, tho' soft controul,
The fierce and restless passions of the soul?
Artless thou seem'st, and yet thy subtle wiles
Can change the tears they rais'd, to dimpled smiles;
Charm in deep grief, and in one moment show,
The sum of human joy, and human woe:
So chaste in mirth, so touching in distress,
That even women love thy loveliness!
Oh, Shakespear! Otway! from your tombs arise,
Or quit your blissful mansions in the skies;
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Which oft in dreams illum'd your raptur'd sight,
And lent the inspiration that pourtray'd
The witching graces of Verona's Maid,
And she, the star of Venice!—not in vain
Arose these fair creations of the brain,
For tho' through weary years they did but seem
The fairy visions of a Poet's dream,
At length indulgent Nature kindly smil'd,
And gave this favour'd age her darling child.
She comes! what iron soul denies the tear
To Desdemona's woes, or Juliet's bier?
E'en the cold stoic bids the stranger guest,
Soft Pity, welcome, to his callous breast.
In vain would Reason plead—the feeling mind
Enjoys the tender sorrow, pure, refin'd;
It is not acting—Belvidera speaks!
Monimia weeps! and Isabella shrieks!
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