Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems by Robert Charles Dallas ... Written between the ages of eleven and thirteen years |
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| AMATORY TRIFLES. |
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 | Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems |  |
149
AMATORY TRIFLES.
151
LINES TO A YOUNG LADY
ON HER SENDING A LOCK OF HER HAIR TO THE AUTHOR.
As the sun-show'rs of April, so flagrantly flowing,
Refresh the green meads on a bright vernal day;
As the soft plaintive zephyrs, so tunefully blowing,
Exhale their sweet perfume on flow'rets of May;
Refresh the green meads on a bright vernal day;
As the soft plaintive zephyrs, so tunefully blowing,
Exhale their sweet perfume on flow'rets of May;
So the Ringlet of Beauty, which once I saw floating,
With heart-stealing grace on the neck of the fair,
Is the balm of the heart which now views it with doating,
For Cupid had kiss'd it, I safely may swear.
With heart-stealing grace on the neck of the fair,
Is the balm of the heart which now views it with doating,
For Cupid had kiss'd it, I safely may swear.
How I envy the lock which thus wantonly flying,
Hath curled with delight on the bosom of bliss,
And has lain on the lip for which lovers are sighing!
O, say, where on earth is a pleasure like this?
Hath curled with delight on the bosom of bliss,
And has lain on the lip for which lovers are sighing!
O, say, where on earth is a pleasure like this?
152
Lovely Ringlet! O ever while Time is fast fleeting,
Thy sight the blest feelings of joy shall impart!
And while life's daily pulse to love's music is beating,
Her image shall rise in each throb of my heart.
Thy sight the blest feelings of joy shall impart!
And while life's daily pulse to love's music is beating,
Her image shall rise in each throb of my heart.
153
TO ANOTHER YOUNG LADY,
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION.
Ah! why should our Poets, neglectfully dreaming,
Attune their soft lays to the Graces of yore?
The bright eye of Beauty o'er Britain is beaming,
And love-laughing Cupid hath arrows in store.
Attune their soft lays to the Graces of yore?
The bright eye of Beauty o'er Britain is beaming,
And love-laughing Cupid hath arrows in store.
For erst though the fables of Fancy have doated
On Goddess-like visions so gay and so bright;
O'er Helen's proud bosom no ringlet hath floated,
So lovely as this, that I kiss with delight!
On Goddess-like visions so gay and so bright;
O'er Helen's proud bosom no ringlet hath floated,
So lovely as this, that I kiss with delight!
When first I beheld it refulgently shining,
It wav'd on the lily white neck of the fair:
Ye Gods! with what transport I view'd it reclining;
The starlight of Glory that gleam'd on despair!
It wav'd on the lily white neck of the fair:
Ye Gods! with what transport I view'd it reclining;
The starlight of Glory that gleam'd on despair!
154
And now that my hand in Love's fever is pressing
This token of bliss to my joy swollen heart;
I vow—that may life prove a bane, or a blessing,
'Till throbs my last pulse, it shall never depart.
This token of bliss to my joy swollen heart;
I vow—that may life prove a bane, or a blessing,
'Till throbs my last pulse, it shall never depart.
155
ON A LADY'S GLOVE.
Soft, soft, is yon moonbeam that plays o'er the water,
And soft is the spirit that's riding the air:
The heart of the warrior is resting from slaughter;
The breast of the lover is waking to care.
And soft is the spirit that's riding the air:
The heart of the warrior is resting from slaughter;
The breast of the lover is waking to care.
Full oft, while with tear drops bedewing his pillow,
He sighs for his fair one, far, far o'er the wave;
And dreams, half unconscious, though tost on the billow,
Of that, parting, look that his Caroline gave.
He sighs for his fair one, far, far o'er the wave;
And dreams, half unconscious, though tost on the billow,
Of that, parting, look that his Caroline gave.
Oh! yet though the beacon of Glory be blazing,
His fond heart to wean from the home of his love;
On some cherish'd token he still must be gazing,
And that precious relict—his Caroline's glove.
His fond heart to wean from the home of his love;
On some cherish'd token he still must be gazing,
And that precious relict—his Caroline's glove.
156
With lover-like transport, now clasping the treasure,
That swells the full tide of his high throbbing heart;
Illusive the dream! but how soothing the pleasure!
He vows from his bosom it ne'er shall depart.
That swells the full tide of his high throbbing heart;
Illusive the dream! but how soothing the pleasure!
He vows from his bosom it ne'er shall depart.
Yet though all around him war's tumults be closing,
He sighs o'er the tear-blister'd emblem a prayer:
The lily it veiled, on his bosom reposing,
With sun beams of fancy may light off despair.!
He sighs o'er the tear-blister'd emblem a prayer:
The lily it veiled, on his bosom reposing,
With sun beams of fancy may light off despair.!
And erst as in chivalry's chronicled story,
That glove o'er his helmet shall beam through the fray;
And love strung to fame, and all panting for glory,
'Gainst fortune and fate turn the tide of the day.
That glove o'er his helmet shall beam through the fray;
And love strung to fame, and all panting for glory,
'Gainst fortune and fate turn the tide of the day.
But ah! while with hope his proud bosom is beating,
Should some blasting ball stop the course of his breath;
The tumult of life all around him be fleeting;
His fire flashing orbits be fading in death;
Should some blasting ball stop the course of his breath;
The tumult of life all around him be fleeting;
His fire flashing orbits be fading in death;
157
“Oh! tell Her,” (he cries, while his heart's blood is gushing
In torrents of crimson that flow from his side,)
“The last stream of life from this bosom is rushing:
I breath'd for Her, living: and constant I died.”
In torrents of crimson that flow from his side,)
“The last stream of life from this bosom is rushing:
I breath'd for Her, living: and constant I died.”
158
EPITHALAMIUM
On the Marriage of a Young Officer (a near Relation,) who served under the Duke of Wellington during nearly the whole of the Peninsula War, and was severely wounded in one of the last Actions with Marshal Soult.
Hark; amid yon festive board,
Hymen lifts his gladd'ning strain:
Love with blessings richly stor'd,
Smiling holds his happy reign.
Hymen lifts his gladd'ning strain:
Love with blessings richly stor'd,
Smiling holds his happy reign.
Beauty's Queen with rosy hand,
Round the God who lifts the spear,
Gently throws her golden hand;
Airy Graces hover near.
Round the God who lifts the spear,
Gently throws her golden hand;
Airy Graces hover near.
Lull'd amid Idalian roses,
Scatt'ring round his darts in glee,
Lov'ly Cupid soft reposes;
Lov'lier Bride—he smiles on thee!
Scatt'ring round his darts in glee,
Lov'ly Cupid soft reposes;
Lov'lier Bride—he smiles on thee!
159
Ruddy Bacchus lifts the bowl,
Sparkling with nectarean red.
Heav'nly music charms the soul,
Myrtle wreaths adorn the head.
Sparkling with nectarean red.
Heav'nly music charms the soul,
Myrtle wreaths adorn the head.
Minstrels! wake the gladd'ning song,
Sweep the sounding chords along,
Strain the key with tow'ring swell,
Tuned to Fancy's silver spell.
Phœbus strings your Golden Lyre,
Venus fans your glowing fire;
Hail the hour, the nuptial day,
Hail yon pair with bridal lay:
Then louder swell the note,
Till list'ning zephyrs all around
With transport bear the hallow'd sound,
On fragrant wing to fairy ground,
And revel as they float.
Sweep the sounding chords along,
Strain the key with tow'ring swell,
Tuned to Fancy's silver spell.
Phœbus strings your Golden Lyre,
Venus fans your glowing fire;
Hail the hour, the nuptial day,
Hail yon pair with bridal lay:
Then louder swell the note,
Till list'ning zephyrs all around
With transport bear the hallow'd sound,
On fragrant wing to fairy ground,
And revel as they float.
Hush'd be all the streams of sorrow:
Think of grief, at least to-morrow,
Joy shall have this happy hour,
Bliss shall wake in Beauty's bower:
Valour quits the tented plain,
Glories glist'ning in his train;
Crown'd with fame, he drops his arms,
Raptur'd views yon kindling charms,
Like visions of the air;
Warrior, yes, the bold, the brave,
Who scorn'd to fill a coward's grave,
Who nobly fight a world to save,
Alone deserve the fair.
Think of grief, at least to-morrow,
Joy shall have this happy hour,
Bliss shall wake in Beauty's bower:
160
Glories glist'ning in his train;
Crown'd with fame, he drops his arms,
Raptur'd views yon kindling charms,
Like visions of the air;
Warrior, yes, the bold, the brave,
Who scorn'd to fill a coward's grave,
Who nobly fight a world to save,
Alone deserve the fair.
Yes, fond pair! with hearts united,
May ye never learn to mourn,
Like some rose unsoil'd, unblighted,
May your bliss by nought be torn:
Bands, which nought but death can sever,
Mystic Bands, that Heav'n hath wove,
Firm around ye cling for ever,
Join'd by Fate, and link'd by Love.
Thus though Fortune's boisterous billow
Toss the minds it cannot part;
Nights of care that haunt the pillow,
Closer link a lover's heart.
Then away with frowns and sadness,
Conquest crowns the Hero's name:
Sorrow yields her throne to Gladness;
Bliss and Beauty follow Fame.
May ye never learn to mourn,
Like some rose unsoil'd, unblighted,
May your bliss by nought be torn:
Bands, which nought but death can sever,
Mystic Bands, that Heav'n hath wove,
Firm around ye cling for ever,
Join'd by Fate, and link'd by Love.
Thus though Fortune's boisterous billow
Toss the minds it cannot part;
Nights of care that haunt the pillow,
Closer link a lover's heart.
161
Conquest crowns the Hero's name:
Sorrow yields her throne to Gladness;
Bliss and Beauty follow Fame.
| Ode to the Duke of Wellington, and other poems | |