 | Poetical remains (1872) |  |
ODE II.
[Why doubts thy foot, too timorous maid]
[_]
The metre of this ode is similar to that of the fourth, with this difference only, that this is of the kind, which, to borrow the language of ancient prosody, we may call Iambic; the other is Trochaic.
Why doubts thy foot, too timorous maid,
T'explore this shade?
To bowers, deep-bosom'd in the centre
Of this o'er-arching gloom from sight,
The paths invite
That here in devious labyrinths enter.
T'explore this shade?
To bowers, deep-bosom'd in the centre
Of this o'er-arching gloom from sight,
The paths invite
That here in devious labyrinths enter.
There freely fond caresses play,
While coy delay
Feigns from their search desire to cover;
And bold-eyed sports, and arch-eyed wiles,
Which mock the smiles
Ill-masked in mimic anger, hover:
While coy delay
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And bold-eyed sports, and arch-eyed wiles,
Which mock the smiles
Ill-masked in mimic anger, hover:
There pointing now, where blind and mute
The branches shoot,
Now beckoning laugh's secure occasion;
Thither if any curious rove,
The sounding grove
Gives early signal of the invasion:
The branches shoot,
Now beckoning laugh's secure occasion;
Thither if any curious rove,
The sounding grove
Gives early signal of the invasion:
There, when bright noon inflames the day,
The dubious ray
But half reveals, in dim illusion,
The rudely-rising breast, and cheek
Where blushes speak
Wild passion awed by soft confusion.
The dubious ray
But half reveals, in dim illusion,
The rudely-rising breast, and cheek
Where blushes speak
Wild passion awed by soft confusion.
And now still Evening holds again
Her sober reign,
Her dusky banners widely spreading;
And now serenely beams above
The star of Love,
Sweet influence thro' the silent shedding.
Her sober reign,
Her dusky banners widely spreading;
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The star of Love,
Sweet influence thro' the silent shedding.
Yes! Delia feels, O sacred hour,
Thy tender power;
Beneath the vaulted verdure lying;
Her eyes that with moist languor shine
She lifts to mine,
Then sinks upon my bosom sighing.
Thy tender power;
Beneath the vaulted verdure lying;
Her eyes that with moist languor shine
She lifts to mine,
Then sinks upon my bosom sighing.
Hence, Evening, oft my grateful muse
Thy name shall chuse
To grace her gently falling measures
But when thy bounty too, O Night,
Shall she requite
In songs more glowing, like thy pleasures?
Thy name shall chuse
To grace her gently falling measures
But when thy bounty too, O Night,
Shall she requite
In songs more glowing, like thy pleasures?
| Poetical remains (1872) | |