The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle including several original pieces, with a new life of the author. By the Rev. John Sim |
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 | The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle |  |
STANZAS.
Say, gentle Lady of the bower,
For thou, though young, art wise,
And known to thee is every flower
Beneath our milder skies:
For thou, though young, art wise,
And known to thee is every flower
Beneath our milder skies:
Say, Which the Plant of modest dye,
And lovely mien combin'd,
That fittest to the pensive eye
Displays the virtuous mind?
And lovely mien combin'd,
That fittest to the pensive eye
Displays the virtuous mind?
I sought the groves where innocence
Methought might long reside?
But April's blossoms banish'd thence,
Gave summer, Flora's pride.
Methought might long reside?
But April's blossoms banish'd thence,
Gave summer, Flora's pride.
I sought the garden's boasted haunt,
But on the gay partere
Carnations glow, and tulips flaunt,
No humble flow'ret there.
But on the gay partere
Carnations glow, and tulips flaunt,
No humble flow'ret there.
“The flower you seek,” the Nymph replies,
“Has bow'd the languid head;
“For on its bloom the blazing skies
“Their sultry rage have shed.
“Has bow'd the languid head;
“For on its bloom the blazing skies
“Their sultry rage have shed.
“'Tis now the downward withering day
“Of winter's dull presage,
“That seeks not where the dog-star's ray
“Has shed his fiercest rage.
“Of winter's dull presage,
“That seeks not where the dog-star's ray
“Has shed his fiercest rage.
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“Yet search yon shade, obscure, forlorn,
“Where rude the bramble grows;
“There, shaded by the humble thorn,
“The lingering Primrose blows.”
“Where rude the bramble grows;
“There, shaded by the humble thorn,
“The lingering Primrose blows.”
On passing the Bridge of Alcantra, near Lisbon, where Camoens is reported to have chosen his Station, when Age and Necessity compelled him to beg his daily Sustenance.
Oft as at pensive eve I pass the brookWhere Lisboa's Maro, old and suppliant stood,
Fancy his injured eld and sorrows rude
Brought to my view. 'Twas night: with chearless look
Methought he bow'd the head in languid mood,
As pale with penury in darkling nook
Forlorn he watch'd. Sudden the skies partook
A mantling blaze, and warlike forms intrude.
Here Gama's semblance braves the boiling main,
And Lusitania's warriors hurle the spear;
But whence that flood of light that bids them rear
Their lofty brows! From thy neglected strain,
Camoens, unseen by vulgar eye it flows;
That glorious blaze, to thee, thy thankless country owes.
STANZAS ON MR. GARRICK.
Fair was the graceful form Prometheus made,
Its front the image of the God display'd:
All heaven approv'd it e'er Minerva stole
The fire of Jove and kindled up the soul.
Its front the image of the God display'd:
All heaven approv'd it e'er Minerva stole
The fire of Jove and kindled up the soul.
So Shakespeare's page, the flower of poesy,
E'er Garrick rose had charms for every eye:
'Twas nature's genuine image wild and grand,
The strong mark'd picture of a master's hand.
E'er Garrick rose had charms for every eye:
'Twas nature's genuine image wild and grand,
The strong mark'd picture of a master's hand.
But when his Garrick, nature's Pallas, came,
The Bard's bold painting burst into a flame:
Each part new force and vital warmth receiv'd,
As touch'd by heaven—and all the picture liv'd.
The Bard's bold painting burst into a flame:
Each part new force and vital warmth receiv'd,
As touch'd by heaven—and all the picture liv'd.
| The Poetical Works of William Julius Mickle | |