 | [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) |  |
281
SECTION IV
ATTRIBUTED POEMS AND PROSE
The Sigh
As silent and sad by my Eliza I sat,
Love fired and tormented my breast;
But I trembled and dared not my sufferings relate,
And I fain would have lulled them to rest.
Love fired and tormented my breast;
But I trembled and dared not my sufferings relate,
And I fain would have lulled them to rest.
But my eye that would glisten at times with a tear,
And the flush that still glowed on my cheek,
Betrayed what I dreaded, yet wished to appear
More plainly than language could speak.
And the flush that still glowed on my cheek,
Betrayed what I dreaded, yet wished to appear
More plainly than language could speak.
She saw, and as angels in pity look down
On saints that are fated to die,
My Eliza hung o'er me, nor killed with a frown,
'Twas compassion that gleamed in her eye.
On saints that are fated to die,
My Eliza hung o'er me, nor killed with a frown,
'Twas compassion that gleamed in her eye.
She spoke not; but oh, I could read in her looks,
That she'd fain her emotions define,
And as gently her hand gently yielded, I took,
Her pulse beat as rapid as mine.
That she'd fain her emotions define,
And as gently her hand gently yielded, I took,
Her pulse beat as rapid as mine.
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Yet I trusted not still to my flattering tongue,
The bold language of love to apply;
But my heart struggled under the weight that so long
Had pressed it, and breathed out a sigh.
The bold language of love to apply;
But my heart struggled under the weight that so long
Had pressed it, and breathed out a sigh.
As the rose, when the gay zephyr fans it, will wave
And glow with more beautiful stain,
So my Eliza looked up deeply blushing, and gave
The sigh, all I wished for, again.
And glow with more beautiful stain,
So my Eliza looked up deeply blushing, and gave
The sigh, all I wished for, again.
J. D.
To the Moon
Bright orb, whose silver shadows streak the green,
Whose distant rays cast lustre on the waves,
I love thy presence, and thy beams serene
I joy to contemplate around the caves.
Whose distant rays cast lustre on the waves,
I love thy presence, and thy beams serene
I joy to contemplate around the caves.
Thou fairest planet—may no envious cloud
Arise to quench thy pure majestic light,
To veil thy radiance in a dusky shroud,
And match thy beauty from the lonely night.
Arise to quench thy pure majestic light,
To veil thy radiance in a dusky shroud,
And match thy beauty from the lonely night.
Lend, gentle moon, thy soft, untarnished ray,
That fills my soul with energy divine.
On the dark windings as I bend my way,
O let thy light of beauteous lustre shine!
For thy mild tints can chase the sigh of woe,
And break the cord that chains the thoughts below.
That fills my soul with energy divine.
On the dark windings as I bend my way,
O let thy light of beauteous lustre shine!
For thy mild tints can chase the sigh of woe,
And break the cord that chains the thoughts below.
J. D.
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To Eliza
Sigh not, Eliza, though winter has shrouded,The woodlands in gloom and the valleys in snow,
Though the mantle of tempest the azure has clouded,
And darkened the orbits that sparkle and glow.
Sigh not, my love, though the snow-drop has faded,
That laughed on the forehead of life-giving spring,
Though the garland is withered that summer had braided,
Mid the gold-burnished ringlets of autumn to fling.
In the world, in our bosoms of spirit and light,
There rises no winter, there rages no storms,
No wrecks of the whirlwind, no shadows of night
Our quiet invades, or our pleasure deforms.
The breezes which played on the brow of the mountain,
Blow hoarse through the forest and keen through the dale,
Though cold are the sunbeams that glanced on the fountain,
And dead is the violet that scented the vale.
The beam of affection enlightens our hours,
Dispersing the shadows, sorrow, and gloom,
For love strews the path of existence with flowers,
Perennial in fragrance, eternal in bloom.
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[To Prince Croaker]
How is it, Hal, thy out-of-elbow spirit
Should throw thy liquid caustic in the air,
To fall and scorch the skins of men of merit,
And make all Gotham at thy dashes stare?
Does it become thee, thou apparent heir
To Pindar's loom for weaving frolic verse,
To take a fall with every dancing bear,
And draw upon thy head a regiment's curse?
Should throw thy liquid caustic in the air,
To fall and scorch the skins of men of merit,
And make all Gotham at thy dashes stare?
Does it become thee, thou apparent heir
To Pindar's loom for weaving frolic verse,
To take a fall with every dancing bear,
And draw upon thy head a regiment's curse?
Was it well done to place great Dr. Mitchill
Bare on the points of thy poetic hatchet—
Finding in folly's vesture ugly flaws
To make the Gothites ope their grinning jaws—
Merely because the learned doctor tries
To make a dinner out of whales and flies?
Thou reprobate! thou owest an apology
To this phlogobombas of our ichthyology.
Say, was thy prudence altogether fled,
When thou let'st loose that bull-dog verse of thine,
'Gainst that great poet and his cabbage head
Whose verse the learned Holly calls divine?
What's more (and this thy impudence enhances),
I'm well informed you sent a blistering-plaster
To clap upon the chops of Dr. Francis,
And ipecac and tartar for his master.
But Mr. Johnny, being orthodox,
Swore as he might, being in a wondrous fury,
He'd not be battering his razor upon blocks,
Or bring a broken head before a jury.
Bare on the points of thy poetic hatchet—
Finding in folly's vesture ugly flaws
To make the Gothites ope their grinning jaws—
Merely because the learned doctor tries
To make a dinner out of whales and flies?
Thou reprobate! thou owest an apology
To this phlogobombas of our ichthyology.
Say, was thy prudence altogether fled,
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'Gainst that great poet and his cabbage head
Whose verse the learned Holly calls divine?
What's more (and this thy impudence enhances),
I'm well informed you sent a blistering-plaster
To clap upon the chops of Dr. Francis,
And ipecac and tartar for his master.
But Mr. Johnny, being orthodox,
Swore as he might, being in a wondrous fury,
He'd not be battering his razor upon blocks,
Or bring a broken head before a jury.
And that sky-rocket which of late you sent,
Filled with most villainous sarcastic matter,
To fire among the Peacock Regiment,
And gallant Colonel Murray to bespatter—
He'd see thee damned, howe'er thou might desire it,
Before he'd let his honest fleer fire it.
But go thy ways and give thy fancy play,
And, save through Coventry, I'll follow thee;
And when thou kill'st the Hotspur of the day,
I'll bear the body off and swear 'twas me.
Filled with most villainous sarcastic matter,
To fire among the Peacock Regiment,
And gallant Colonel Murray to bespatter—
He'd see thee damned, howe'er thou might desire it,
Before he'd let his honest fleer fire it.
But go thy ways and give thy fancy play,
And, save through Coventry, I'll follow thee;
And when thou kill'st the Hotspur of the day,
I'll bear the body off and swear 'twas me.
| [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) | |