 | Poems |  |
97
VICTORINE.
She stands all motionless awhile,
The head bowed slightly, as in thought,
Upon the lips a placid smile,
The glance with quiet meaning fraught;
By Heaven! 'tis Judith as she lives
In Guido's nobly-pencilled face,
Made fairer by the spell that gives
A matchless charm to vital grace!
The head bowed slightly, as in thought,
Upon the lips a placid smile,
The glance with quiet meaning fraught;
By Heaven! 'tis Judith as she lives
In Guido's nobly-pencilled face,
Made fairer by the spell that gives
A matchless charm to vital grace!
She meekly sits in ardent mood,
With pallid cheek but eye of fire,
Too proud to yield, yet half-subdued
By mournful thought or wild desire;
At once my fancy's wings unfurl
To range a bleak but magic soil,
For as I look upon the girl,
I start to find her Minna Troil!
With pallid cheek but eye of fire,
Too proud to yield, yet half-subdued
By mournful thought or wild desire;
At once my fancy's wings unfurl
To range a bleak but magic soil,
For as I look upon the girl,
I start to find her Minna Troil!
98
Her arms are folded on her breast,
She smiles half scornful, half in glee,
Her eyes are closed, but not in rest,
You every jetty lash may see;
There is a zest, a relish high,
In loveliness thus touched with spite,
Perchance it oftener wakes the sigh,
But then it makes love's fetters light;
She smiles half scornful, half in glee,
Her eyes are closed, but not in rest,
You every jetty lash may see;
There is a zest, a relish high,
In loveliness thus touched with spite,
Perchance it oftener wakes the sigh,
But then it makes love's fetters light;
For none but madmen bow, for life,
To beauty which is lapped in pride,
That coldly mocks affection's strife,
And yields not to devotion's tide;
Yet who would shrink from such a fate
With scorn so lovely ever nigh?
The very look of shrewish Kate,
The very air of Lady Di!
To beauty which is lapped in pride,
That coldly mocks affection's strife,
And yields not to devotion's tide;
Yet who would shrink from such a fate
With scorn so lovely ever nigh?
The very look of shrewish Kate,
The very air of Lady Di!
Methinks thou frownest at my lay;
O would that I were there to see!
“The hateful man”—I hear thee say—
“To write such saucy things of me!”
Well, little Cleopatra, now
I will not trace thy picture more,
I'll leave thy lip and cheek and brow
For sweeter minstrels to explore;
O would that I were there to see!
“The hateful man”—I hear thee say—
“To write such saucy things of me!”
Well, little Cleopatra, now
I will not trace thy picture more,
I'll leave thy lip and cheek and brow
For sweeter minstrels to explore;
99
But for those windows of the soul—
Those eyes in which 'tis heaven to dwell,
The stars of fate, hope's brightest goal,
Methinks I know their language well;
And were the fairy's powers mine,
I'd watch beside thy couch to-night,
And on them squeeze the flower divine
That makes the dreamer love at sight!
Those eyes in which 'tis heaven to dwell,
The stars of fate, hope's brightest goal,
Methinks I know their language well;
And were the fairy's powers mine,
I'd watch beside thy couch to-night,
And on them squeeze the flower divine
That makes the dreamer love at sight!
| Poems | |