Sketches in verse with prose illustrations. By Mr. Polwhele. Second edition, with several additional pieces |
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ÆGYPTIAN ODE |
 | Sketches in verse |  |
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ÆGYPTIAN ODE
Where bosom-thrilling transports glow,
We oft observe the intruder Woe!—
We oft observe the intruder Woe!—
See tufted Faioum breathe delight
From rose-trees kindling on the sight,
From orange-blooms, or tamarind-bowers,
Or the pomegranate's scarlet flowers,
And loftier palms, that wave between
Their foliage of a deeper green,
Relieving the bright azure skies
While thro' the fragrance as it blows
A stream of liquid amber flows,
While nestles many a gurgling dove
Within the bosom of the grove,
And from the shade on sable wings
With crimson strip'd—the flamen springs,
And the plum'd ostrich on the sands,
Or pelican majestic stands.
From rose-trees kindling on the sight,
From orange-blooms, or tamarind-bowers,
Or the pomegranate's scarlet flowers,
And loftier palms, that wave between
Their foliage of a deeper green,
Relieving the bright azure skies
While thro' the fragrance as it blows
A stream of liquid amber flows,
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Within the bosom of the grove,
And from the shade on sable wings
With crimson strip'd—the flamen springs,
And the plum'd ostrich on the sands,
Or pelican majestic stands.
To cool the sun's meridian beams,
There fruits refreshing kiss the streams,
Or blushing to eve's purple ray
Amid the breezy verdure play—
As its leaves shade each silver sluice
The pulpy water-melon's juice,
To eager thirst delicious balm;
And sugary dates that crown the palm.
There fruits refreshing kiss the streams,
Or blushing to eve's purple ray
Amid the breezy verdure play—
As its leaves shade each silver sluice
The pulpy water-melon's juice,
To eager thirst delicious balm;
And sugary dates that crown the palm.
Yet from the rocks that skirt the wood,
Fell tigers bound, to thirst on blood;
Yet the wide-water'd landscapes smile,
Where lurks the treacherous crocodile;
And, ere the melting fruit we grasp,
Death-doom'd, we feel the envenom'd asp.
Fell tigers bound, to thirst on blood;
Yet the wide-water'd landscapes smile,
Where lurks the treacherous crocodile;
And, ere the melting fruit we grasp,
Death-doom'd, we feel the envenom'd asp.
Then hail my Albion's hoary coast,
Where, tho' no scenes Elysium boast,
We court not temperate joys in vain,
Not thrill'd by bliss, nor stung by pain.
Where, tho' no scenes Elysium boast,
We court not temperate joys in vain,
Not thrill'd by bliss, nor stung by pain.
| Sketches in verse | |