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151
EFFUSIONS AMATORY AND SENTIMENTAL, MOSTLY JUVENILE.
... “perjuries,
At which Jove laughs.” ...
At which Jove laughs.” ...
“It is worth the labor, saith Plotinus, to consider well of Love, whether it be a god or a divell, or passion of the minde, or partly god, partly divell, partly passion. [OMITTED] Give me leave then (to refresh my muse a little and my weary readers) to expatiate) in this delightsome field, ‘hoc deliciarum campo,” as Fonseca terms it, to season a surly discourse with a more pleasing aspersion of love-matters. [OMITTED] And there be those, without question, that are more willing to reade such toyes, then I am to write.”—
Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.
“Courroucé! Mais pourquoi faut-il qu'il s'en courrouce?
C'est une chose, helas! si plaisante et si douce!
J' admire quelle joie on goûte à tout cela” ...
L'Ecole des Femmes.
C'est une chose, helas! si plaisante et si douce!
J' admire quelle joie on goûte à tout cela” ...
L'Ecole des Femmes.
“I made regular approaches to her by sonnets and rebusses— sapped her pride with an elegy, and her reserve with an impromptu —proceeding to storm with Pindarics, she spared the further effusion of ink by a Capitulation.”—
Sheridan.153
TO EROS.
Cupid, graceless Wanton! thou
Wast my earliest playfellow.
Well I knew thee, roguish Elf!
When an infant like thyself.
And thou still must needs abide
Clinging wilful to my side.
Wast my earliest playfellow.
Well I knew thee, roguish Elf!
When an infant like thyself.
And thou still must needs abide
Clinging wilful to my side.
Every other frolic mate
Long has grown to man's estate—
Other childish sports have past—
Other toys aside are cast—
One alone could yet remain;
'Tis the vainest of the vain!
Long has grown to man's estate—
Other childish sports have past—
Other toys aside are cast—
One alone could yet remain;
'Tis the vainest of the vain!
Still this fond and foolish heart
Must enact a childish part,
And in Beauty's Presence still
Feel its wonted boyish thrill.
Chide thee—shun thee as I may,
Thou hast ever had thy way.
Many a subtle snare hast laid—
Many a wanton trick hast played.
E'en at Learning's council sage,
Thou hast perched upon the page;
(Latin could not mar thy glee,
Greek was never Greek to thee,)
And when Wisdom should prevail,
Told me many a roguish tale,
Many a scene of vanished Love—
Dicte's cave and Ida's grove,
And the mountain fringed with fir,
And the paths beloved of Her,
Who the sleeping hunter eyed,
Couched on Latmos' shaggy side.
Of each old enchanted spot—
Tyrian mead—Egerian grot—
Each sweet haunt, remembered yet,
Where mortal with Immortal met—
Darksome glen and sunny glade—
And all the pranks that Sylvan played.
Must enact a childish part,
And in Beauty's Presence still
Feel its wonted boyish thrill.
154
Thou hast ever had thy way.
Many a subtle snare hast laid—
Many a wanton trick hast played.
E'en at Learning's council sage,
Thou hast perched upon the page;
(Latin could not mar thy glee,
Greek was never Greek to thee,)
And when Wisdom should prevail,
Told me many a roguish tale,
Many a scene of vanished Love—
Dicte's cave and Ida's grove,
And the mountain fringed with fir,
And the paths beloved of Her,
Who the sleeping hunter eyed,
Couched on Latmos' shaggy side.
Of each old enchanted spot—
Tyrian mead—Egerian grot—
Each sweet haunt, remembered yet,
Where mortal with Immortal met—
Darksome glen and sunny glade—
And all the pranks that Sylvan played.
155
One kind turn I owe thee—one
Kindly office thou hast done.
Ne'er shall I forget the hour,
When thy soft-persuading power
Led my footsteps, roving wide,
To the Sleeping Beauty's side.
Kindly office thou hast done.
Ne'er shall I forget the hour,
When thy soft-persuading power
Led my footsteps, roving wide,
To the Sleeping Beauty's side.
Wearied, like a child with play,
Sweetly slumbering, there she lay.
Half a crime though it might seem
To disturb so sweet a dream—
Yet, with tender, reverent soul,
Softly to her side I stole,
And the only means did take,
Such a slumber e'er should wake.
Sweetly slumbering, there she lay.
Half a crime though it might seem
To disturb so sweet a dream—
Yet, with tender, reverent soul,
Softly to her side I stole,
And the only means did take,
Such a slumber e'er should wake.
Like a half-awakened child,
Gently then she moved and smiled;
With a soft and wondering glance—
Such as Gyneth wore, perchance,
When she oped her lovely eyes
From the sleep of centuries.
Gently then she moved and smiled;
With a soft and wondering glance—
Such as Gyneth wore, perchance,
When she oped her lovely eyes
From the sleep of centuries.
156
PLEASANT DELUSIONS.
Sweet Falsehoods! fare ye well!
That may not longer dwell
In this fond heart, dear paramours of Youth!
A cold, unloving bride
Is ever at my side—
Yet who so pure, so beautiful as Truth?
That may not longer dwell
In this fond heart, dear paramours of Youth!
A cold, unloving bride
Is ever at my side—
Yet who so pure, so beautiful as Truth?
Long hath she sought my side,
And would not be denied,
Till, all perforce, she won my spirit o'er—
And though her glances be
But cold and stern to me,
At every step I love her more and more.
And would not be denied,
Till, all perforce, she won my spirit o'er—
And though her glances be
But cold and stern to me,
At every step I love her more and more.
157
TO M---.
They told me thou wert beautiful—that on thy fair young face,
A poet's wish, a lover's dream might find their resting-place.
And well indeed the bud that bloomed so bright in early Spring,
Bore promise of a fairer flower, that summer suns would bring—
Yet not so sweet in form and hue, all unprofaned by art,
(Though these alone might well suffice to move the coldest heart,)
As that, in goodness—gentleness—and purity alone,
'Tis radiant as the angels' are, before the Eternal Throne.
Long have I cherished Loveliness—yet never knew till now,
How deeply this adoring heart before its shrine could bow.
A poet's wish, a lover's dream might find their resting-place.
And well indeed the bud that bloomed so bright in early Spring,
Bore promise of a fairer flower, that summer suns would bring—
Yet not so sweet in form and hue, all unprofaned by art,
(Though these alone might well suffice to move the coldest heart,)
As that, in goodness—gentleness—and purity alone,
'Tis radiant as the angels' are, before the Eternal Throne.
158
How deeply this adoring heart before its shrine could bow.
And they said thy voice was music—and that I knew full well—
Though years had passed, since on my heart its gentle accents fell!
That voice, to whose endearing tones I listened long before,
And, having heard those accents once, could never lose it more.
'Twas like some old forgotten song, yet once to memory dear—
Some long-lost strain of music, familiar to mine ear.
And as its tones were heard once more, what nameless thoughts were stirred—
What memories from their slumber awoke at every word—
What tender visions once again across Life's desert stole,
And Hopes and Fears, a countless throng, came mingling o'er the soul.
Though years had passed, since on my heart its gentle accents fell!
That voice, to whose endearing tones I listened long before,
And, having heard those accents once, could never lose it more.
'Twas like some old forgotten song, yet once to memory dear—
Some long-lost strain of music, familiar to mine ear.
And as its tones were heard once more, what nameless thoughts were stirred—
What memories from their slumber awoke at every word—
What tender visions once again across Life's desert stole,
And Hopes and Fears, a countless throng, came mingling o'er the soul.
159
And yet I cannot envy him, who ne'er hath felt the same;
Whose heart has thrilled not at the sound of one beloved Name;
Whose pulse hath never quickened at the footstep, or the tone
Of one, whose every hope and thought are dearer than his own:
Or never felt, as now I feel, that all once wildly sought
Has yielded to one gentle hope—one dear entrancing thought:
That one sweet glance of kindness from those dear eyes of light,
Could ransom all the dreary Past, and make the Future bright,
To him whose only happiness,—whose only refuge lies
In the calm soul-lit heaven of those beloved eyes.
Whose heart has thrilled not at the sound of one beloved Name;
Whose pulse hath never quickened at the footstep, or the tone
Of one, whose every hope and thought are dearer than his own:
Or never felt, as now I feel, that all once wildly sought
Has yielded to one gentle hope—one dear entrancing thought:
That one sweet glance of kindness from those dear eyes of light,
Could ransom all the dreary Past, and make the Future bright,
To him whose only happiness,—whose only refuge lies
In the calm soul-lit heaven of those beloved eyes.
160
TO S---.
A stranger came—a stranger met—
They parted, and for aye—
Yet one, perchance, remembers yet
Those moments passed away.
They woke a vision sweet and vain,
He never thought to dream again.
They parted, and for aye—
Yet one, perchance, remembers yet
Those moments passed away.
They woke a vision sweet and vain,
He never thought to dream again.
As yon lone cloud, whose passing shade
Floats on the summer wind—
Soon from the sun-lit heaven shall fade,
And leave no trace behind—
Thus, in the hour that bade them part,
His memory vanished from her heart.
Floats on the summer wind—
Soon from the sun-lit heaven shall fade,
And leave no trace behind—
Thus, in the hour that bade them part,
His memory vanished from her heart.
161
So be it still—the days are past
Of reckless, wild desire;
Yet must he cherish to the last,
And love—what all admire—
And bear, through sunshine and through storm,
That gentle heart, and lovely form.
Of reckless, wild desire;
Yet must he cherish to the last,
And love—what all admire—
And bear, through sunshine and through storm,
That gentle heart, and lovely form.
162
TO ---.
Yes, fondly I believed that Love
Had left his long-forsaken shrine—
Nor deemed that aught again could move
This cold and withered heart of mine.
Had left his long-forsaken shrine—
Nor deemed that aught again could move
This cold and withered heart of mine.
'Tis strange, yet sweet, to feel it beat,
When that light footstep echoes nigh;
Or tremble, if it chance to meet
The magic of that soft blue eye.
When that light footstep echoes nigh;
Or tremble, if it chance to meet
The magic of that soft blue eye.
Long have I searched o'er memory's scroll,
Yet there, in vain, have sought to trace
The record of a gentler soul—
A sweeter form—a lovelier face.
Yet there, in vain, have sought to trace
The record of a gentler soul—
A sweeter form—a lovelier face.
163
And thou, beloved! oft hast deigned
Those calm and radiant eyes to bend,
And those dear lips that never feigned,
To move, in converse with thy friend.
Those calm and radiant eyes to bend,
And those dear lips that never feigned,
To move, in converse with thy friend.
And when his voice to thine replied
In light retort or trifling play,
Hast thought the being at thy side,
Perchance, the gayest of the gay.
In light retort or trifling play,
Hast thought the being at thy side,
Perchance, the gayest of the gay.
Thou little knew'st what words unbreathed
Lay burning at his heart the while—
What wild, impassioned thoughts were wreathed
By the calm mockery of a smile:
Lay burning at his heart the while—
What wild, impassioned thoughts were wreathed
By the calm mockery of a smile:
How, at one look—one accent sweet,
Could thrill with transport every vein—
Or, at a glance, each drop retreat
In anguish, to its source again.
Could thrill with transport every vein—
Or, at a glance, each drop retreat
In anguish, to its source again.
164
Thanks for the kindness, which hath shed
Such hope and sunshine, in its way,
On the lone heart—the erring head,
That oft hath gone so far astray.
Such hope and sunshine, in its way,
On the lone heart—the erring head,
That oft hath gone so far astray.
Yes, oft hath sought an evil mark—
Oft dared an evil path to rove—
Yet never, in its wanderings dark,
Was false to Friendship or to Love.
Oft dared an evil path to rove—
Yet never, in its wanderings dark,
Was false to Friendship or to Love.
'Twill long retain each thought imprest,
Each token treasured up from thine;
Yet may not ask that gentle breast
To share a lot so sad as mine.
Each token treasured up from thine;
Yet may not ask that gentle breast
To share a lot so sad as mine.
165
TO L---.
Those pleasant hours—how quick they fled!
But 'twas a happy day,
And on my soul a light hath shed,
That may not pass away.
But 'twas a happy day,
And on my soul a light hath shed,
That may not pass away.
'Twas sweet to feel the autumn breeze,
That cooled each burning brow—
And hear its music in the trees,
From every murmuring bough.
That cooled each burning brow—
And hear its music in the trees,
From every murmuring bough.
'Twas sweet to hear the wild-birds' lay,
The merry laugh that rung
From hearts as innocent as they—
Those dark old woods among.
The merry laugh that rung
From hearts as innocent as they—
Those dark old woods among.
166
And sweet to see the sunlight warm—
Yet sweeter far to see
The gentle and beloved form
That wandered there with me.
Yet sweeter far to see
The gentle and beloved form
That wandered there with me.
167
TO A---.
Thou art very lovely, thou
Of the calm unshadowed brow,
Soul serene;
In whose happy look I read
Gentle thought and gentle deed—
Angeline.
Of the calm unshadowed brow,
Soul serene;
In whose happy look I read
Gentle thought and gentle deed—
Angeline.
In that merry eye half hid
'Neath its darkly fringéd lid—
Softly seen.
Oh, the witchery that lies
In those sweet and sunny eyes,
Angel een!
'Neath its darkly fringéd lid—
Softly seen.
Oh, the witchery that lies
In those sweet and sunny eyes,
Angel een!
168
With thine image cometh still
Sunny meadow—shady hill—
Forest green—
Where in pleasant task or play,
We might dream our life away,
Angeline.
Sunny meadow—shady hill—
Forest green—
Where in pleasant task or play,
We might dream our life away,
Angeline.
169
TO ---.
Now, by each sunny-flowing curl!
This heart thou deemest cold,
Is thine too truly, little girl!
To let its truth be told.
This heart thou deemest cold,
Is thine too truly, little girl!
To let its truth be told.
For thou would'st crimson like the Dawn,
To hear its fond confessing,
And tremble like a timid fawn,
At Love, and Love's caressing.
To hear its fond confessing,
And tremble like a timid fawn,
At Love, and Love's caressing.
A few short moons will quickly move,
And thou mayst witness then,
How sweet a thing it is to love—
And to be loved again.
And thou mayst witness then,
How sweet a thing it is to love—
And to be loved again.
170
And Alma Venus over thee
Her gentle watch is keeping—
For, nestled in thine eyes, I see
The Baby Cupid sleeping.
Her gentle watch is keeping—
For, nestled in thine eyes, I see
The Baby Cupid sleeping.
171
TO ---.
Ah! cruel-hearted maiden! provoking pretty one!
You little know, (like “Diamond,”) the mischief you have done!
How many hearts you've broken, is more than I can tell,
But that you've played the deuce with one, alas! is known too well.
To every homage Love can pay, insensible you seem—
How can the dark-eyed one “keep dark” on such a tender theme?
Why not consent humanely and graciously to spare
(To ease the poor subscriber's mind) a ringlet of her hair?
You little know, (like “Diamond,”) the mischief you have done!
How many hearts you've broken, is more than I can tell,
But that you've played the deuce with one, alas! is known too well.
To every homage Love can pay, insensible you seem—
How can the dark-eyed one “keep dark” on such a tender theme?
Why not consent humanely and graciously to spare
(To ease the poor subscriber's mind) a ringlet of her hair?
I've many treasures of the sort—aye, something like a score
(As near as I can reckon—perhaps there may be more.)
And some are very beautiful—there's one as black as ink,
Which I have kept on hand at least a dozen years, I think.
There's one as pale as amber, and one as white as snow,
And one that's soft and flaxen—another more like tow.
And one as golden as the crown upon Victoria's head;
Another auburn—or perchance, the least inclined to red.
And here is one—a splendid one—this curl of wavy brown!
'Tis from a head that might have turned the heads of half the town.
(As near as I can reckon—perhaps there may be more.)
172
Which I have kept on hand at least a dozen years, I think.
There's one as pale as amber, and one as white as snow,
And one that's soft and flaxen—another more like tow.
And one as golden as the crown upon Victoria's head;
Another auburn—or perchance, the least inclined to red.
And here is one—a splendid one—this curl of wavy brown!
'Tis from a head that might have turned the heads of half the town.
And thou mayst have them all for one of those dark locks of thine,
That over snowy neck and brow so lovingly entwine.
That over snowy neck and brow so lovingly entwine.
173
TO ---.
Like a fragrant Havana,
Long kept from the light—
Like a cask of choice vintage,
Brought seldom to sight—
Long kept from the light—
Like a cask of choice vintage,
Brought seldom to sight—
Like a monk in his cloister,
A saint in his cell—
Like a York-river oyster
Shut tight in his shell—
A saint in his cell—
Like a York-river oyster
Shut tight in his shell—
Like a toad in a grindstone—
A clam in the sea—
This heart is imprisoned,
Fair maiden, in thee.
A clam in the sea—
This heart is imprisoned,
Fair maiden, in thee.
1838.
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