 | Narrative Poems |  |
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THE CARDER AND THE CARRIER.
In amorous Florence, that propitious clime
Where Love is constant tho' he talks in rhyme ,
A Carder lived, whose filial labour spread
A frugal board, a Mother's daily bread;
And still they drank, tho' ceaseless was the task,
More frequent from the Pitcher, than the Flask;
While Mirth and Innocence her hours enchant,
Toil seems no labour, Poverty no want.
Where Love is constant tho' he talks in rhyme ,
A Carder lived, whose filial labour spread
A frugal board, a Mother's daily bread;
And still they drank, tho' ceaseless was the task,
More frequent from the Pitcher, than the Flask;
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Toil seems no labour, Poverty no want.
To spin the flax, or card the wool her care,
Or in the loom, the shooting shuttle bear;
Tho' Want the spindle in her hand would place
To graceless Arts, she gave the charm of grace;
Love in her crystal eyes for ever dwells,
And hangs her wheel with soft romantic spells.
Or in the loom, the shooting shuttle bear;
Tho' Want the spindle in her hand would place
To graceless Arts, she gave the charm of grace;
Love in her crystal eyes for ever dwells,
And hangs her wheel with soft romantic spells.
Pasquil, a carrier of the truant sort,
Would, light as air, beneath a burthen sport;
A Loiterer once, who fancy to beguile,
Would make a labyrinth of every mile.
Now fired with zeal to push his Master's trade,
The raptured boy her faultless web surveyed.
That Web, to idolising eyes was spread;
He, by the Spinner's beauty, prized the thread.
Would, light as air, beneath a burthen sport;
A Loiterer once, who fancy to beguile,
Would make a labyrinth of every mile.
Now fired with zeal to push his Master's trade,
The raptured boy her faultless web surveyed.
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He, by the Spinner's beauty, prized the thread.
Lo, as he fills the' enchanting Carder's store,
How prompt to act, and ever at her door!
He tired the Beauty with the work he brought:
She nodded gratefully, and smiling wrought.
The Youth is praised for merit, scarce his own;
Love waked to Industry the idling clown;
Love filled his head with thought, his breast with joy,
And breathed the soul of Manhood in the Boy.
How prompt to act, and ever at her door!
He tired the Beauty with the work he brought:
She nodded gratefully, and smiling wrought.
The Youth is praised for merit, scarce his own;
Love waked to Industry the idling clown;
Love filled his head with thought, his breast with joy,
And breathed the soul of Manhood in the Boy.
If o'er the flax, her tapering fingers strayed,
On the light fibres of his heart they played,
Or shooting quick the line along the frame,
The shifting shuttle would his heart inflame;
Quick as her wheel, her eyes their radiance dart,
And restless as her wheel, his fluttering heart!
On the light fibres of his heart they played,
Or shooting quick the line along the frame,
The shifting shuttle would his heart inflame;
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And restless as her wheel, his fluttering heart!
At first the boy to charm away the time,
Trolled to the whirring wheel his gayest rhyme;
But when more soft pathetic songs he sought,
Each gesture paints!—a picture of each thought!
She read his eyes that eloquently move;
Unwritten letters of his secret love!
And oft she kissed the wool that Pasquil brought,
Leaning abstracted in the charm of thought,
She seemed to hear his voice's parting sound!—
While on the Spindle sharp the flax she wound,
Love warmed the tear that half escaped her eye;
The Spindle trembling with her trembling sigh.
Trolled to the whirring wheel his gayest rhyme;
But when more soft pathetic songs he sought,
Each gesture paints!—a picture of each thought!
She read his eyes that eloquently move;
Unwritten letters of his secret love!
And oft she kissed the wool that Pasquil brought,
Leaning abstracted in the charm of thought,
She seemed to hear his voice's parting sound!—
While on the Spindle sharp the flax she wound,
Love warmed the tear that half escaped her eye;
The Spindle trembling with her trembling sigh.
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A bolder warmth the enamoured boy reveals,
While she her fear restrains, her shame conceals.
When on her eye his pleasing features steal,
Breathless she bends upon her silent wheel;
Afraid the flying minute still to miss,
He breathed a whisper, or he stole a kiss.
While she her fear restrains, her shame conceals.
When on her eye his pleasing features steal,
Breathless she bends upon her silent wheel;
Afraid the flying minute still to miss,
He breathed a whisper, or he stole a kiss.
His simple gifts the glowing boy essayed
And sweet the offices he duly paid.
With constant hearts that never know Caprice,
The price of pleasure—is the wish to please.
When not a breath, the hot Sirocco fanned,
Slow turned the sleepy wheel with languid hand;
Then with the Moscadel her lips he dewed,
Or culled wild Strawberries, fragrant from the Wood.
And sweet the offices he duly paid.
With constant hearts that never know Caprice,
The price of pleasure—is the wish to please.
When not a breath, the hot Sirocco fanned,
Slow turned the sleepy wheel with languid hand;
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Or culled wild Strawberries, fragrant from the Wood.
The boy soliciting, each moment seized,
The timid maid solicited was pleased.
Yet ever when the Lovers talked or gazed,
The serious Mother came, with finger raised!
In vain the Matron sly, is full of care;
The ambushed Mother on the creaking stair
The foot of age betrayed—then ere he flies,
Some silent sign the' unfinished thought supplies;
Or playing with a ringlet, ere it fell
Prest to his lips, he looked a sweet farewell.
The timid maid solicited was pleased.
Yet ever when the Lovers talked or gazed,
The serious Mother came, with finger raised!
In vain the Matron sly, is full of care;
The ambushed Mother on the creaking stair
The foot of age betrayed—then ere he flies,
Some silent sign the' unfinished thought supplies;
Or playing with a ringlet, ere it fell
Prest to his lips, he looked a sweet farewell.
Whene'er she sought to hide by love opprest
A daughter's blushes in a Mother's breast,
A Mother's gratitude that breast would share;
Ah! could she chide the Angel, resting there?
But Scandal's tattling lips the fiction sound,
And Virgin Honour feels the airy wound;
From house to house lean Envy walks and lies,
And Malice peers with visionary eyes.
A daughter's blushes in a Mother's breast,
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Ah! could she chide the Angel, resting there?
But Scandal's tattling lips the fiction sound,
And Virgin Honour feels the airy wound;
From house to house lean Envy walks and lies,
And Malice peers with visionary eyes.
To Love, the Season fair in fruit and flower,
In vernal whispers breathes a golden hour;
In the green arbour, or the twilight walk,
The Evening's stillness prompts the tender talk.
Lo Pasquil treading light and listening round
Crept to the Maid—His arm in fondness wound
Her Neck, enamouring both!—and ere they spoke,
A murmuring kiss the' entrancing silence broke;
O music of the heart! O tenderest tone!
It told the Solitude was all their own.
In vernal whispers breathes a golden hour;
In the green arbour, or the twilight walk,
The Evening's stillness prompts the tender talk.
Lo Pasquil treading light and listening round
Crept to the Maid—His arm in fondness wound
Her Neck, enamouring both!—and ere they spoke,
A murmuring kiss the' entrancing silence broke;
O music of the heart! O tenderest tone!
It told the Solitude was all their own.
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His youthly cheek while Hope's quick currents flush,
He speaks the Maiden's wish to spare her blush.
He speaks the Maiden's wish to spare her blush.
As yet our loves no dearer language know,
Than chance-endearments and a secret vow.
Delicious moments, would but moments last!
But while we speak, they perish, and have past!
Minutes are drops of Time—Love's feverish rage
Drinks days and months, and thirsts, and asks an age!
Ah, not like Pasquil loved Valclusa's Bard,
Whose thousand sonnets win no light regard;
Can Love a curious chain of Rhymes delight?
Can Love, impatient Love, a volume write?
For Fame, he shed the feathers of his youth;
Sonnets are fancies still—a sigh is Truth!
Meet me, my love, in Julio's garden meet,
Beside the Fountain, Love's ambrosial seat!
Hallow the hour, on Sunday that succeeds,
When we have sung our Mass, and told our beads;
Take Peres, she loves gentle Sganareel—
They long to meet—so Friend shall Friend conceal!
Than chance-endearments and a secret vow.
Delicious moments, would but moments last!
But while we speak, they perish, and have past!
Minutes are drops of Time—Love's feverish rage
Drinks days and months, and thirsts, and asks an age!
Ah, not like Pasquil loved Valclusa's Bard,
Whose thousand sonnets win no light regard;
Can Love a curious chain of Rhymes delight?
Can Love, impatient Love, a volume write?
For Fame, he shed the feathers of his youth;
Sonnets are fancies still—a sigh is Truth!
Meet me, my love, in Julio's garden meet,
Beside the Fountain, Love's ambrosial seat!
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When we have sung our Mass, and told our beads;
Take Peres, she loves gentle Sganareel—
They long to meet—so Friend shall Friend conceal!
Smiling in maiden loveliness she bowed;
The day, the garden, and the lover glowed;
The soft confusion like a vision stole,
A moving picture in her thoughtful soul.
The day, the garden, and the lover glowed;
The soft confusion like a vision stole,
A moving picture in her thoughtful soul.
True to the hour Simonia, Peres joined,
Nor Sganareel with Pasquil were behind.
Their flashing eyes unspeaking rapture wakes;
Quick into Pairs the amorous party breaks.
Nor Sganareel with Pasquil were behind.
Their flashing eyes unspeaking rapture wakes;
Quick into Pairs the amorous party breaks.
The Maid and Boy, the green recess embowers,
And waves its wanton wreathes, and drops its flowers;
A tremulous light the netted Trellis throws,
There Beauty still more beautifully glows.
The Fountain shot its spray, and sparkling bright,
Fell a crystalline shower of coloured light,
Rolling like glass, the crisped waters round,
They chime o'er many a shell the' enchanting sound.
The magic spot a faultless statue graced,
Yet seemed not faultless, by the Maiden placed;
So told the courtly Clown—she blushed and mused,
And with averted face the bower refused.
And waves its wanton wreathes, and drops its flowers;
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There Beauty still more beautifully glows.
The Fountain shot its spray, and sparkling bright,
Fell a crystalline shower of coloured light,
Rolling like glass, the crisped waters round,
They chime o'er many a shell the' enchanting sound.
The magic spot a faultless statue graced,
Yet seemed not faultless, by the Maiden placed;
So told the courtly Clown—she blushed and mused,
And with averted face the bower refused.
Too beauteous spot! with many a grace tho' strewed,
Yet wants there one, a modest solitude.
Be thine a thousand ears, a thousand eyes!
Be thine cold smiles and ardent flatteries!
Be thine that multitude the Lover dreads!
He talks in whispers and in stealth he treads;
And only claims to aid his timid vows,
The silent twilight of the curtained boughs.
Yet wants there one, a modest solitude.
Be thine a thousand ears, a thousand eyes!
Be thine cold smiles and ardent flatteries!
Be thine that multitude the Lover dreads!
He talks in whispers and in stealth he treads;
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The silent twilight of the curtained boughs.
Hid in the flowering glade a rustic seat
Peeps out, she hails it with an accent sweet;
While he preceding, with one hand outspread;
One broke the briery path, and one the Beauty led.
Peeps out, she hails it with an accent sweet;
While he preceding, with one hand outspread;
One broke the briery path, and one the Beauty led.
See Pasquil, with a thousand fancies wild,
(For Love in leisure is a playful child)
Build with the boughs and group the foliage green,
As Fancy calls each visionary scene.
From thought to thought their careless prattle stole,
Light were those thoughts, for pleasant was their soul.
Ah! slight events and random thoughts can move
A thousand tender sympathies in Love;
And trifles interest, when souls refined,
Would stamp an image of each other's Mind.
(For Love in leisure is a playful child)
Build with the boughs and group the foliage green,
As Fancy calls each visionary scene.
From thought to thought their careless prattle stole,
Light were those thoughts, for pleasant was their soul.
Ah! slight events and random thoughts can move
A thousand tender sympathies in Love;
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Would stamp an image of each other's Mind.
With more than words the love-narrator draws,
But lost his tale in each voluptuous pause;
On a light ringlet hung that wandering tale,
And in a kiss long-drawn, would Memory fail.
But lost his tale in each voluptuous pause;
On a light ringlet hung that wandering tale,
And in a kiss long-drawn, would Memory fail.
With laughter gay her rosy lips unclose
Two lines of polished pearls in even rows;
He, while his sparkling eyes wild fancy warms,
Asks, what fine Art that ivory beauty forms?
Two lines of polished pearls in even rows;
He, while his sparkling eyes wild fancy warms,
Asks, what fine Art that ivory beauty forms?
She said (while modesty her cheek suffused)
For simple charms may simple arts be used;
Cares for her teeth a Maiden's thoughts engage;
Each Morn I press them with a leaf of sage.
For simple charms may simple arts be used;
Cares for her teeth a Maiden's thoughts engage;
Each Morn I press them with a leaf of sage.
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Beside the laughing boy, a Sage-plant grew,
That in luxuriant growth its foliage threw;
He tried the verdant leaf with art to strain,
The verdant leaf but yields a darker stain.
She caught the leaves, and with a gesture bland
Played o'er his teeth her soft and sportive hand.
That in luxuriant growth its foliage threw;
He tried the verdant leaf with art to strain,
The verdant leaf but yields a darker stain.
She caught the leaves, and with a gesture bland
Played o'er his teeth her soft and sportive hand.
My love (he cries) suspend this idle care,
'Tis not for Man such polished gems to bear;
For finer pearls a woman's mouth will wreathe,
As deeper roses on her lips will breathe.
'Tis not for Man such polished gems to bear;
For finer pearls a woman's mouth will wreathe,
As deeper roses on her lips will breathe.
Low bends the mirthless boy—the Maid is gay
And counts the pleasures of a distant day,
When in these fresher shades and garden bowers
Love might indulge in sport its secret hours—
Here Sganareel with Peres too should blend,
Each placed between their Lover and their Friend;
Planned the refection, dressed the rural treat,
And placed the Absent in their future seat.
And counts the pleasures of a distant day,
When in these fresher shades and garden bowers
Love might indulge in sport its secret hours—
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Each placed between their Lover and their Friend;
Planned the refection, dressed the rural treat,
And placed the Absent in their future seat.
But ah! on playful themes what means that sigh?
That cheek all blanched? that lid that seals the eye?—
“Awake my soul! why sleeps my jocund boy?
Ah! mock me not, nor lose thine hour of joy!—
Terrific stillness! Move, or look, or speak!
Ah, with one word this world of silence break.”
That cheek all blanched? that lid that seals the eye?—
“Awake my soul! why sleeps my jocund boy?
Ah! mock me not, nor lose thine hour of joy!—
Terrific stillness! Move, or look, or speak!
Ah, with one word this world of silence break.”
Hark, from his quivering lips a parting groan!
She leans, his figure seems to sleep in stone!
Cold on her neck his marble arm is hung,
Cold to her breast his marble face is clung;
She pored, the momentary life to trace—
'Twas but a faint convulsion o'er the face!
In speechless tenderness her arms are spread,
And Horror makes the living like the dead.
She leans, his figure seems to sleep in stone!
Cold on her neck his marble arm is hung,
Cold to her breast his marble face is clung;
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'Twas but a faint convulsion o'er the face!
In speechless tenderness her arms are spread,
And Horror makes the living like the dead.
Ah, me! in Pleasure's warm delicious scene,
When Man but sports, comes hideous Death between!
So near a Glacier oft, his race of glee,
All light with life, attempts some wandering Bee;
Deep in the Juniper's sweet shrubs to rest,
Darts his sharp trunk, and loads his little breast;
Now glittering in the Sun he winds along,
The child of Heat, of Sweetness, and of Song!
When lo! the rushing storm, the snow-wind's tide,
Sweeps the poor Vagrant up the Glacier's side,
To instant death the Summer's inmate brings,
And fixed in frost he spreads his gelid wings .
When Man but sports, comes hideous Death between!
So near a Glacier oft, his race of glee,
All light with life, attempts some wandering Bee;
Deep in the Juniper's sweet shrubs to rest,
Darts his sharp trunk, and loads his little breast;
Now glittering in the Sun he winds along,
The child of Heat, of Sweetness, and of Song!
When lo! the rushing storm, the snow-wind's tide,
Sweeps the poor Vagrant up the Glacier's side,
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And fixed in frost he spreads his gelid wings .
Voiceless she stood, but as she tried to speak,
Wild through the Garden rang the Maiden's shriek;
That piercing cry to the strange horror drew
A mingling crowd, announcing what they view!
Starting they mark beneath the thicket's shade
The breathless Lover and the ghastly Maid;
She rapt in silence wildly pointed o'er
Her Lover there, a Lover now no more!
Wild through the Garden rang the Maiden's shriek;
That piercing cry to the strange horror drew
A mingling crowd, announcing what they view!
Starting they mark beneath the thicket's shade
The breathless Lover and the ghastly Maid;
She rapt in silence wildly pointed o'er
Her Lover there, a Lover now no more!
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Then thus the' Italian youth—assasin Maid!
Hast thou, this night of leaves—unnatural shade
Of this fair garden and the year's soft prime!—
Sought, and the place well fitted to the crime?
Hast thou, this night of leaves—unnatural shade
Of this fair garden and the year's soft prime!—
Sought, and the place well fitted to the crime?
So the rash boy—the crowd all curious hung,
And the tale closed, the accusation rung.
Yet as they gazed they wanted still belief,
Their eyes absolved the criminal in grief;
She had not warmth to melt the frozen tear,
Or change the rigid cheek all cold with fear.
And the tale closed, the accusation rung.
Yet as they gazed they wanted still belief,
Their eyes absolved the criminal in grief;
She had not warmth to melt the frozen tear,
Or change the rigid cheek all cold with fear.
They to the Judge the fainting Beauty lead;
Then Pity bent while Nature rose to plead.
Lowly she bowed her head, and still she prest
With folded arms her palpitating breast;
Tears on her cheek in lonely beauty die,
And half in silence lost, her hopeless sigh;
Thro' each fine nerve the tenderest tremors dart;
To Heaven, not Man, she gives her secret heart.
Then Pity bent while Nature rose to plead.
Lowly she bowed her head, and still she prest
With folded arms her palpitating breast;
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And half in silence lost, her hopeless sigh;
Thro' each fine nerve the tenderest tremors dart;
To Heaven, not Man, she gives her secret heart.
Her silence touched, and sweetly-awful bound
In silence, all the mixt assembly round,
And now they hasten with the suffering maid,
Where lies the youth beneath the fateful shade;
But as they mark the bloated corse they cry
For Vengeance, and condemn the maid to die.
In silence, all the mixt assembly round,
And now they hasten with the suffering maid,
Where lies the youth beneath the fateful shade;
But as they mark the bloated corse they cry
For Vengeance, and condemn the maid to die.
Amid the barbarous shout she lifts her face,
Which Innocence keeps beautiful in grace;
Pallid in woe, to Heaven she turns her eye,
While in their lids the' unfalling waters dry;
She plucks the plant with an unaltered cheek,
And to the populace she bends to speak.
Which Innocence keeps beautiful in grace;
Pallid in woe, to Heaven she turns her eye,
While in their lids the' unfalling waters dry;
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And to the populace she bends to speak.
Too well we loved in separate life to grieve,
Or live a day when Love has ceased to live.
Born in Desire and nursed by chaste Delight,
Our infant Love the stranger eye would fright;
The child of Solitude and Fear would fly,
Nor to the world would trust it's infancy.
Think not, ye Rich! in Poverty's rude sphere
We feel no rapture from a heart that's dear;
Think not, ye Delicate! we take no part
In all the tender magic of the Heart.
Such happiness not Envy could forgive;
Nor in one house, can Love and Prudence live.
Hid in this copse we blest the gloom above,
And gave the hour to Privacy and Love.
Here Pasquil sate the fateful plant beside,
In sport he tasted and in tasting, died!
Or live a day when Love has ceased to live.
Born in Desire and nursed by chaste Delight,
Our infant Love the stranger eye would fright;
The child of Solitude and Fear would fly,
Nor to the world would trust it's infancy.
Think not, ye Rich! in Poverty's rude sphere
We feel no rapture from a heart that's dear;
Think not, ye Delicate! we take no part
In all the tender magic of the Heart.
Such happiness not Envy could forgive;
Nor in one house, can Love and Prudence live.
Hid in this copse we blest the gloom above,
And gave the hour to Privacy and Love.
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In sport he tasted and in tasting, died!
Bowing her head, the plant of poisonous breath
She sucked, and blest the vegetable death.
Quick thro' her veins the flying poisons dart,
And one cold tremor chills her beating heart.
She kneels, and winds her arms round Pasquil's breast,
There, as 'twere life to touch, she creeps to rest;
On him once more her opening eyes she raised,
The light died on them as she fondly gazed;
With quick short breath, catching at life, she tried
To kiss his lips, and as she kissed, she died.
She sucked, and blest the vegetable death.
Quick thro' her veins the flying poisons dart,
And one cold tremor chills her beating heart.
She kneels, and winds her arms round Pasquil's breast,
There, as 'twere life to touch, she creeps to rest;
On him once more her opening eyes she raised,
The light died on them as she fondly gazed;
With quick short breath, catching at life, she tried
To kiss his lips, and as she kissed, she died.
O did the Muse but know the learned name
To blast that fair-deceiving Plant to Fame!
With mimic tints, the vegetable child
Low as the Sage-plant crept along, and smiled,
O never may it drink the golden light
With laughing tints—the Garden's Hypocrite!
Ye colder Botanists the Plant describe,
Gaze on the Spectre-form and class the tribe!
But ye sweet-souled, whose pensive bosoms glow
With the soft images of amorous woe,
From you the Muse one tender tear would claim;
One shudder, at the plant without a name!
To blast that fair-deceiving Plant to Fame!
With mimic tints, the vegetable child
Low as the Sage-plant crept along, and smiled,
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With laughing tints—the Garden's Hypocrite!
Ye colder Botanists the Plant describe,
Gaze on the Spectre-form and class the tribe!
But ye sweet-souled, whose pensive bosoms glow
With the soft images of amorous woe,
From you the Muse one tender tear would claim;
One shudder, at the plant without a name!
Loved of the Muse, thou self-devoted Maid!
(A Verse is music to a Lover's shade)
For thee she bids a silver lily wave,
Planting the emblem on a Virgin's grave;
On Love's immortal scroll with tenderest claim,
Inscribes a Carder's with a Carrier's name!
(A Verse is music to a Lover's shade)
For thee she bids a silver lily wave,
Planting the emblem on a Virgin's grave;
On Love's immortal scroll with tenderest claim,
Inscribes a Carder's with a Carrier's name!
The Bees flying about the neighbouring rocks, to regale upon the flowers of Genepi, are frequently surprised by storms, which hurrying them up the Glacier, they must perish almost instantly. We found in an almost inaccessible solitude a number of dead bees, but no other animals.—Bourrit's Journey to the Glaciers of Savoy.
| Narrative Poems | |