FRAGMENT V.
THE DRAWING-ROOM.
TO LADY C---FT---N,
OF L---D HOUSE.
“Dans un Salon froidement spacieux,
Que la Luxe decore a grand frais
Bien ne parle a mon cœur
Quand tout parle a mes yeux,
Il semble dans ces vastes lieux
Que le sentiment s'evapore.”
De Moustier.
I
When midst an idle, senseless, crowd,
The flutt'ring insects of the day,
Thou seest thy pouting little friend
So coldly pleas'd, so sadly gay;
II
Thou know'st at least my young heart's pulse
Still gaily throbs to joy's wild measure,
And that each sense is still alive
To every dream of youthful pleasure.
III
Too prone perhaps to pleasure's dreams,
Too “thrillingly alive all o'er,”
And oh! too prone at every woe
To “agonize at every pore.”
IV
But that sad medium, dull and chill,
Of gayless revels, heartless joys,
Wears not ecstatic pleasure's air
To me; 'tis nought but din and noise.
V
Thou know'st me playful, sportive, wild,
Simple, ardent, tender, glowing;
A glance can chill my bosom's spring,
A glance can set it warmly flowing.
VI
Thou'st seen me midst the charming group
That forms thine own domestic heaven,
By youthful spirits (wildly gay)
To many a childish frolic driven.
VII
But oh! the heart some think lies still,
Resembles most my lute, whose string
Breathes not (Eolian-like) untouch'd,
Nor vibrates to each insect's wing.
VIII
But when the sympathetic touch
Calls forth the magic of its wires,
How soft, how tender is the strain
Each trembling, thrilling, chord respires!
IX
And seem'd I ever dull to thee,
Or strove I to resist the art,
With which thou oft wert wont to thrill
Each latent feeling of my heart?
X
Oh no! for though the many slight,
Thou know'st at least my trivial worth,
For thou (who best canst touch my heart)
Canst call its best vibrations forth.
