Moonlight The Doge's daughter: Ariadne: Carmen Britannicum, or The song of Britain: Angelica, or The rape of Proteus: By Edward, Lord Thurlow |
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A Passage in “Angelica,” since otherwise written.
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A Passage in “Angelica,” since otherwise written.
Yet have I seen the wonders of our globe,Oft passing to their hymeneal beds,
When Summer smooth'd the seas; whose looks have trapt
The wary Tritons, and their voices drawn
Th' allured dolphins from their native depths.
And yet I lov'd not; lov'd not, 'till I saw
Angelica, thou merely mortal foe,
Yet more, than thrice celestial to my soul!
How oft, when eve went down upon the sea,
Have I sat list'ning to thy angel tongue,
That might have led Apollo from his sphere
With songs of pity, and the mermaids dropp'd
Their golden combs, and, ravish'd with delight,
Stood gazing in astonish'd ecstacy.
How oft, when Morn spread forth his ruddy curls,
And wak'd the world with his thrice-angel lute,
Have I beheld thee, faultless excellence!
To whom the alabaster is but night,
And marble of white Paros but a cloud,
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Thy robes put off, and, panting at the wave,
With boundless beauty set the air on fire!
And must I lose thee? lose thee to a man,
Born of mere woman? such as plough the earth,
And clothe them in the fleecy wools of sheep,
And pray to Jove for the sweet nourish'ng rain?
Who am I, O disdainful fair? my birth
Is of the Gods; and when the moon is up,
And the fine fairies tripping all abroad,
You may behold me, with my thousand herds,
Crown'd by the Tritons, throned on the shore.
Behold, too, when the wint'ry seas are waste,
And wild with wreck, the moon not peering then,
But sulphurous clouds o'erhanging all the deep,
What num'rous fires the shepherds light to me,
And slay their oxen on the margin'd shore.
So do they in the promise of the Spring,
And fading year, and call upon my name.
For I have rule, but under Neptune's frown,
Of all the briny waters, and the strand.
Then not a Mermaid sings, but by my choice;
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Of swaying waters, where the pearl is born,
Engender'd of the Sun upon the brine:
Full canisters of such, as put to shame
What Sheba to the wisest king ere while
In tribute brought, fair Angel! shall be thine,
If thou but smile, as gracious to my vows;
Beds of fine pearl, and coral, and the ore,
Which erring men prefer to happiness;
Gold of such pure translucence, that the crown
Of Persia's king may be esteem'd, as dross:
With what of turquois the salt ocean breeds,
And emeralds, in which the Sea-nymphs joy,
And fiery opals, and the diamond sheen:
But, oh! thou wilt despise them—
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