[Poems by Wilde in] Richard Henry Wilde :: :: University of Virginia Library

Another of my wasted years has gone
And brought me nearer—nothing but the grave
And thus they wax and wane; and one by one
Leave—as they found me—Melancholy's slave.

Each stamps it's wrinkles deeper on my brow
Each sheds it's frost upon my scattered hair
And those who knew me once, and see me now
Speak of me as among “the things that were.”

I've watched thro' night 'till dawn—the lingering sun
It is my Fortieth Sun—at length appears!
And seems to question me[:] “What hast thou done
Thro' this long waste of miserable years?”

Ere his Eighth lustre gallant Surrey died
But dying left behind a deathless name.
And hast thou then no honorable pride?
No noble aspirations after fame?

Horace & Virgil Scipio Caesar lit
With Glory ere thy years their sword or page,
And even while thou livedst Napoleon Byron writ
Their brief and burning annals on the age

“And thou”—Enough!—I know it all—'tis true!
Wasting my head and heart on love and rhyme
While the irrevocable moments flew. ...
I perish and bequeath no name to Time.

251

SONNET SENT TO CARLO BOTTA ON READING HIS HISTORY OF ITALY

Botta! the Muse of History with thy pen
Sheds beauty, light, and wisdom on her pages,
Reviving thus, even in our days again,
Part of the Roman, Greek and Tuscan sages;
Their love of freedom, and their skill in men—
Hatred of force and fraud—the lore of ages—
With style's best virtue graced—most lovely when
Truth scorns both Demagogue's and Tyrant's wages.
There is a fascination in thy story
Beyond mere music from a Syren's tongue,
As though exulting in her ancient glory
Above the tale entranced, Ausonia hung,
Demanding back from Time now faint and hoary,
Days worthy of the land where Dante sung!

[Daughter of Grecian Genius! from whose soul]

Daughter of Grecian Genius! from whose soul
Pure—English—womanly high thought and feeling
Their heart-sprung Poetry's rich treasures roll
Ev'n critic taste and reason's wonder stealing,
As hurrying tow'rd impassion'd meaning's goal,
Expression under Fancy's torrent reeling,
Thy spirit seems to burst from Earth's control
Its Heav'n-born Myths in music's breath revealing!
How sweet, how bright, how lovely, how sublime,
Majestic and exhaustless is the stream,
Pour'd forth by Nature, thus enrich'd by Time,
Shaming the golden tides that poets dream—
The ever-glorious Sea of deathless rhyme
Wherein [sun], sky, and stars reflected gleam!

Anonymous (Italian)

“Qui giace un Cardinale.”

Here lies a cardinal far famed
For doing works of good and evil;
He did his bad work very well,
But spoiled his good work like the devil.

252

Juan Meléndez Valdés ANACREONTIC

I applied myself to science,
To be free from care and strife,
Thinking Wisdom bade defiance
To all the ills of life
Alas! what silly fancies!
I could not nurse them long;
Give me music back, and dances,
Love, friendship, wine, and song!

Has life so few vexations,
That we increase our store?
Or so many recreations,
We need not wish for more?
Fill the cup! let's drain a measure
To my own Dorilla's eyes;
Till Wisdom teaches pleasure,
'Tis no pleasure to be wise.

What heed I if the sun
Be a fixed star or no?
What time the planets run
Their course, why need I know?
Is the moon peopled, land and flood?
What millions may be there?
They never did us harm or good—
About them need we care?

Away with each historian!
And the chiefs whose deeds they tell;
Roman or Macedonian—
What matter where they fell?
While our sportive lambs may wander
In this green valley free,
What's Caesar, Alexander—
King or Khan, to you and me?

The land protects our fold—
I speak the word with awe;
If it's safe, need I be told
Of the “wisdom of the law”?

253

The men who study, suffer
Trouble, and toil, and care;
Each mid-night taper-snuffer
Has a sad and solemn air.

What gains the sallow student?
To doubt his studies tend;
Doubt makes new studies prudent—
In doubts new studies end.
So passes life away
In jealousy and strife,
Disputing night and day—
O enviable life!

Bring wine! my girl, bring wine!
With Love, and Song, and Jest,
While there are eyes like thine,
A fig for all the rest!

LINES WRITTEN BY THOMAS CHATTERTON WHILE MEDITATING SUICIDE IN THE AUTUMN OF 1770

I love to see the fading leaf
I joy to note the withering tree
For cold neglect and scorn and grief
Have wasted me.

I love to hear the sullen wind,
I love to watch the rising wave
Beneath whose swell I soon shall find
A peaceful grave!

I love to see the surges beat
Around this insulated rock
That spurns them proudly from his feet
Nor feels the shock

Here will I watch the gathering storm
And listen to the sea-birds cry
'Till night envelopes every form
From mortal eye

Then shall my spirit take it's flight
To that unknown mysterious shore
Where thousands every day alight
But quit no more.

254

Forgive me heaven! if rash the dead
I cannot beg; I dare not steal:
Even man's obdurate heart might bleed
At what I feel.

Would I could pray! ... it is too late,
Despair has stiffened every limb! ....
Pray for me father! ... mercy's gate
Is free to him.

Bend haughty soul! unbent before
Bow to thy maker stubborn knee!
'Tis done! the last great trial's o'er
Angels of mercy pray for me!

LINES FOR THE MUSIC OF WEBER'S LAST WALTZ

See! the Sun is sinking
Day is closing fast
Twilight's pensive-thinking
Hours will soon be past:
Love's first Pilgrim sighing
Starts to hear the bell
Which to day-light dying
Tolls a last farewell:
Vesper's hymn is stealing
O'er the charmed air
Every form is kneeling
Every sound is prayer.

Thus 'mid all that's dearest
Would I sink to rest
Like that bright Star nearest
To the drooping West:
Let not Love bewail me,
'Twould but wound my ear
When my senses fail me
Be thou only near;
While my eyes are glazing
Take thy hand in mine
And be sure while gazing
Life's last thought is thine!

255

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY

Soft and sweet be thy deathly sleep
Bright and glad be thy heavenly waking
O do not dream that thou seest us weep
Feel not thou, that our hearts are breaking!

Ne'er oh ne'er mayst thou hear us sigh
Known to thee may our griefs be never
But if thou look'st from the starry sky
Think that thou seest us happy as ever.

And we, when we press the holy ground
That covers thy grave at the hour of even
Will fancy thy Spirit is hovering round
And smiling points to it's native heaven.

Full oft when the moon of night is near
And our wearied eye lids have sunk in slumber
We'll dream that thy golden lyre we hear
Softly touched to its sweetest number.

And oh! we'll deem when our bosoms thrill
With the pulse of joy or the pang of sorrow
Our good thou sharest—but not our ill
And Patience or bliss from the thought we'll borrow

And at last, when the hour of death is near
Around our couch thy Spirit shall hover
To whisper Hope in our dying ear
And waft us to peace when life is over.

ON GREENOUGH'S WASHINGTON

Such was the Man!—Simple—Austere—sublime—
By every fortune tried—in all unmoved—
Hero—Sage—Patriot—great without a crime
Who conquered freedom for the land he loved:—
And for himself—took nothing—but a Name
That None 'till then—& no one since has won:
Does not the very marble speak his name?
Who dare thus point to Heaven but WASHINGTON[?]

256

Guido Guinicelli (Italian)

When steel and lodestone touch they cleave
As if in rapturous trance they hung,
Severed—each others clasp they leave
As though to life and love they clung.

Thus too the heart!—but ah beware!
When over the subtle flame has past
Both must its power forever share
And each, to each, be first—and last—

Absent or present, heart and steel
Become as if by lightning riven:
Thenceforth they only know and feel
One spell on Earth—one Star in Heaven!

[Whilst busy Memory fondly strays]

Whilst busy Memory fondly strays
O'er griefs and joys of other times
And many a much loved form pourtrays
And many a beauteous scene displays
Of former years and distant climes.

The burning blush will sometimes rise
For youths first wild romantic schemes
Which now, when Time hath made me wise
Appear if viewed by Reasons eyes
But idle and fantastic dreams.

For I have sought the silent wood
And many a live long summer day
Wrapt in enthusiastic mood
Supremely wise divinely good
Within it's deepest covert lay.

There formed vain schemes of happiness
For life's gay morn or cloudless even,
Encouraged worth relieved distress
Heard every tongue my virtues bless
And smiled mid a domestic heaven!

257

But tho' these follies flush my cheek
Whene'er the past is called to view
Yet still—(I dare my thoughts to speak)
Though knaves or fools should call me weak
I mourn them false yet love them too!

This honest truth I tell full free,
What—if the heartless crowd condemn?
Let not that steal one sigh from thee
They only strive to laugh at me,
While I, sincerely pity them!