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CHERRIES.
A LOVER'S NARRATIVE.
Suggested by the following Passage in Rousseau:—
“Après le dîné nous fîmes une économie; au lieu de prendre le café qui nous restoit du déjeûné, nous le gardâmes pour le goûté avec de la crême et des gáteaux qu'elles avoient apportés; et pour tenir notre appétit en haleine, nous allâmes dans le verger achever notre dessert avec des cerises. Je montai sur l'arbre et je leur en jétois des bouquets dont elles me rendoient les noyaux à travers les branches. Une fois Mademoiselle Galley, avançant son tablier et reculant la tête, se présentoit si bien, et je visai si juste, que je lui fis tomber un bouquet dans le sein; et de rire. Je me disois en moi même: Que mes levres ne sont elles des cerises! comme je les leur jetterois ainsi de bon cœur!” Les Confessions de Rousseau, Partie I. Livre 4.
When forth we stole from forest bowers,
My maid and I—
Where with shade, and song, and tune,
The sullen, breathless, heated hours,
Pass'd sweetly by.
“Let us to mine orchard go—
Thou know'st 'tis nigh;
There every summer fruit, sweet maid,
Like fruits of knowledge, tempting grow,
To mouth and eye.”
In undecided mood she said,
'Twixt smile and sigh;
“Would'st thou, like him of old, deceive,
To eat the fruit forbid to maid?”
Confus'd stood I!
The which she chid, but joy'd to hear,—
Did I reply;
And to mine orchard haste we now,
With steps, that shake with hope and fear
Delightfully.
With heart as light as heart can be,
The maid stands by;
And, oh! entranced creature, she,
How great her joy!
The maid, and spread her lap of snow,
While I would try—
Oh sweet employ! delightful task!
Into that snowy lap to throw
The clusters high.
I cherries pluck, one, two, and three;
Adown they fly;
“See how like love-lorn hearts they bleed,”
She playfully cries out to me,
“And blushing lie!”
Or lamb—yet seat of whiter state
Attracts mine eye;
Her bosom!—there I dext'rous throw
The cherries next, with courage great,
Oh, ecstasy!
Without (for hope had made me proud)
Or blush, or sigh,—
“Oh! that my lips but cherries were,
How gladly would I throw them there,
Entranc'd to lie!”
And I since then have met her scorn;
'Lorn creature I!
Her heart, in thought, I have survey'd,
And this sad simile have made—
I know not why:
Can blush, and bleed, and guile the wit
That seeks to sip;
Can tempt the taste to try and win,
While all, alas! is stone within,
And mocks the lip.
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