 | Judith, Esther, and other poems |  |
v
INTRODUCTION.
Ye who admire the lofty-moving strain,
See fierce Achilles tread the corse-strown plain,
Behold proud Troy in flames, or turn your eyes
Where, pale and gasping, noble Hector lies.
Or, do you love when darkly lours the night
To hear of wizard grim and goblin sprite,
Go see the moon illume the storied pane
And seek the book with shuddering Deloraine.
Delight your hearts in tumult, what a grace
In young Zuleika's music breathing face!
Love you mild beauty, on the forehead fair,
Of guileless Gertrude see her parted hair,
Or, pleases most, the sad, impassioned tale,
With Eloisa's sighs resound the cloisters pale.
See fierce Achilles tread the corse-strown plain,
Behold proud Troy in flames, or turn your eyes
Where, pale and gasping, noble Hector lies.
Or, do you love when darkly lours the night
To hear of wizard grim and goblin sprite,
Go see the moon illume the storied pane
And seek the book with shuddering Deloraine.
Delight your hearts in tumult, what a grace
In young Zuleika's music breathing face!
Love you mild beauty, on the forehead fair,
Of guileless Gertrude see her parted hair,
Or, pleases most, the sad, impassioned tale,
With Eloisa's sighs resound the cloisters pale.
But, native youths and maids, with forms as bright
As rosy dreams that crown the summer night,
When angry winds against your casements throw
The tinkling sleet or softly-falling snow,
Or when the moon wandering o'er frozen streams
Coldly upon dismantled willow gleams,
When no congenial, kindly heart is nigh
And your lone bosoms heave th' unbidden sigh,
Or, youthful mothers, who soft vigil's leep
O'er smiling cherubs wrapt in dewy sleep,
And silent sit, the live-long eve, and hear
Every sweet breath that warms the pallet near,
On such a night if my rude lay has power
To mitigate the drear'ness of the hour,
Or lend one melancholy moment speed—
Bless thee, my harp! I ask no other meed.
As rosy dreams that crown the summer night,
When angry winds against your casements throw
The tinkling sleet or softly-falling snow,
Or when the moon wandering o'er frozen streams
Coldly upon dismantled willow gleams,
When no congenial, kindly heart is nigh
And your lone bosoms heave th' unbidden sigh,
Or, youthful mothers, who soft vigil's leep
O'er smiling cherubs wrapt in dewy sleep,
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Every sweet breath that warms the pallet near,
On such a night if my rude lay has power
To mitigate the drear'ness of the hour,
Or lend one melancholy moment speed—
Bless thee, my harp! I ask no other meed.
| Judith, Esther, and other poems | |