University of Virginia Library

previous section The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore]
no next section
1

TO MRS. ------.

If, in the dream that hovers
Around my sleeping mind,
Fancy thy form discovers,
And paints thee melting kind;
If joys from sleep I borrow,
Sure thou'lt forgive me this;
For he who wakes to sorrow,
At least may dream of bliss!
Oh! if thou art, in seeming,
All that I've e'er requir'd:
Oh! if I feel, in dreaming,
All that I've e'er desir'd;
6

Wilt thou forgive my taking
A kiss, or—something more?
What thou deny'st me waking,
Oh! let me slumber o'er!
7

TO JULIA.

[Well, Julia, if to love, and live]

Well, Julia, if to love, and live
Mid all the pleasures love can give,
Be crimes that bring damnation;
You—you and I have giv'n such scope
To loves and joys, we scarce can hope,
In heav'n, the least salvation!
And yet, I think, did Heav'n design
That blisses dear, like yours and mine,
Should be our own undoing;
It had not made my soul so warm,
Nor giv'n you such a witching form,
To bid me dote on ruin!
9

Then wipe away that timid tear;
Sweet truant! you have nought to fear,
Though you were whelm'd in sin;
Stand but at heaven's gate awhile,
And you so like an angel smile,
They can't but let you in.
10

EPIGRAM.

Your mother says, my little Venus,
There's something not correct between us,
And you're in fault as much as I:
Now, on my soul, my little Venus,
I think 't would not be right between us,
To let your mother tell a lie!
15

SONG.

[Sweet seducer! blandly smiling]

Sweet seducer! blandly smiling;
Charming still, and still beguiling!
Oft I swore to love thee never,
Yet I love thee more than ever!
Why that little wanton blushing,
Glancing eye, and bosom flushing?
Flushing warm, and wily glancing—
All is lovely, all entrancing!
Turn away those lips of blisses—
I am poison'd by thy kisses!
Yet, again, ah! turn them to me:
Ruin's sweet, when they undo me!
Oh! be less, be less enchanting;
Let some little grace be wanting;
Let my eyes, when I'm expiring,
Gaze awhile without admiring!
18

SONG.

[Why, the world are all thinking about it]

Why, the world are all thinking about it;
And as for myself, I can swear,
If I fancied that heav'n were without it,
I'd scarce feel a wish to go there.
If Mahomet would but receive me,
And Paradise be as he paints,
I'm greatly afraid, God forgive me!
I'd worship the eyes of his saints.
But why should I think of a trip
To the Prophet's seraglio above,
When Phillida gives me her lip,
As my own little heaven of love!
Oh, Phyllis! that kiss may be sweeter
Than ever by mortal was given;
But your lip, love, is only St. Peter,
And keeps but the key to your heaven!
24

IMPROMPTU.

Look in my eyes, my blushing fair!
Thou'lt see thyself reflected there;
And as I gaze on thine, I see
Two little miniatures of me.
Thus in our looks some propagation lies,
For we make babies in each other's eyes!
26

TO ROSA.

[Does the harp of Rosa slumber?]

Does the harp of Rosa slumber?
Once it breath'd the sweetest number!
Never does a wilder song
Steal the breezy lyre along,
When the wind, in odours dying,
Wooes it with enamour'd sighing.
Does the harp of Rosa cease?
Once it told a tale of peace
To her lover's throbbing breast—
Then he was divinely blest!
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er;
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp—forgotten lover—
Rosa's love and song are over!
27

SYMPATHY.

TO JULIA.

------ sine me sit nulla Venus. Sulpicia.

Our hearts, my love, were doom'd to be
The genuine twins of Sympathy:
They live with one sensation:
In joy or grief, but most in love,
Our heart-strings musically move,
And thrill with like vibration.
How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play
When mine no more is moving!
Since, now, to feel a joy alone
Were worse to thee than feeling none—
Such sympathy in loving!
28

And, oh! how often in those eyes,
Which melting beam'd, like azure skies
In dewy vernal weather—
How often have I raptur'd read
The burning glance, that silent said,
“Now, love, we feel together!”
29

PIETY.

Sue, the pretty nun,
Prays with warm emotion;
Sweetly rolls her eyes
In love or in devotion.
If her pious heart
Softens to relieve you,
She gently shares the fault,
With, “Oh! may God forgive you!”
30

TO MRS. ------.

------ amore
In canuti pensier si disconvene.
Guarini.

Yes, I think I once heard of an amorous youth
Who was caught in his grandmother's bed;
But I own I had ne'er such a liquorish tooth
As to wish to be there in his stead.
'Tis for you, my dear madam, such conquests to make:
Antiquarians may value you high:
But I swear I can't love for antiquity's sake,
Such a poor virtuoso am I.
I have seen many ruins all gilded with care,
But the cracks were still plain to the eye:
And I ne'er felt a passion to venture in there,
But turn'd up my nose, and pass'd by!
32

I perhaps might have sigh'd in your magical chain
When your lip had more freshness to deck it;
But I'd hate even Dian herself in the wane,—
She might then go to hell for a Hecate!
No, no! when my heart's in these amorous faints,
Which is seldom, thank Heaven! the case;
For by reading the Fathers, and Lives of the Saints,
I keep up a stock of good grace:
But then 'tis the creature luxuriant and fresh
That my passion with ecstasy owns;
For indeed, my dear madam, though fond of the flesh,
I never was partial to bones!
33

TO JULIA.

[Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet]

Sweet is the dream, divinely sweet,
When absent souls in fancy meet!—
At midnight, love! I'll think of thee!
At midnight, love! oh think of me:
Think that thou giv'st thy dearest kiss,
And I will think I feel the bliss.
Then, if thou blush, that blush be mine;
And if I weep, the tear be thine!
36

TO ------

Can I again that form caress,
Or on that lip in rapture twine?
No, no! the lip that all may press
Shall never more be press'd by mine.
Can I again that look recall
Which once could make me die for thee?
No, no! the eye that burns on all
Shall never more be priz'd by me!
37

SONG.

[Away with this pouting and sadness!]

Away with this pouting and sadness!
Sweet girl! will you never give o'er?
I love you, by Heaven! to madness,
And what can I swear to you more?
Believe not the old woman's fable,
That oaths are as short as a kiss;
I'll love you as long as I'm able,
And swear for no longer than this.
Then waste not the time with professions;
For not to be blest when we can,
Is one of the darkest transgressions
That happen 'twixt woman and man.—
Pretty moralist! why thus beginning
My innocent warmth to reprove?
Heav'n knows that I never lov'd sinning—
Except little sinnings in love!
39

If swearing, however, will do it,
Come, bring me the calendar, pray—
I vow, by that lip, I'll go through it,
And not miss a saint on my way.
The angels shall help me to wheedle;
I'll swear upon every one
That e'er danc'd on the point of a needle,
Or rode on a beam of the sun!
Oh! why should Platonic control, love,
Enchain an emotion so free?
Your soul, though a very sweet soul, love,
Will ne'er be sufficient for me.
If you think, by this coldness and scorning,
To seem more angelic and bright,
Be an angel, my love, in the morning,
But, oh! be a woman to-night!
40

TO ROSA.

[Oh! why should the girl of my soul be in tears]

Oh! why should the girl of my soul be in tears
At a meeting of rapture like this,
When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years
Have been paid by a moment of bliss?
Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight,
Which dwells on her memory yet?
Do they flow, like the dews of the amorous night,
From the warmth of the sun that has set?
Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,
That smile, which is loveliest then;
And if such are the drops that delight can beguile,
Thou shalt weep them again and again!
42

AN ARGUMENT TO ANY PHILLIS OR CHLOE.

I've oft been told by learned friars,
That wishing and the crime are one,
And Heaven punishes desires
As much as if the deed were done.
If wishing damns us, you and I
Are damn'd to all our heart's content;
Come, then, at least we may enjoy
Some pleasure for our punishment!
45

[Oh, woman! if by simple wile]

“Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more!” St. John, chap. viii.

Oh, woman! if by simple wile
Thy soul has stray'd from honour's track,
'T is mercy only can beguile,
By gentle ways, the wand'rer back.
The stain that on thy virtue lies,
Wash'd by thy tears, may yet decay;
As clouds that sully morning skies
May all be wept in show'rs away.
Go, go—be innocent, and live—
The tongues of men may wound thee sore;
But Heav'n in pity can forgive,
And bids thee “go, and sin no more!”
51

THE KISS.

Illa nisi in lecto nusquam potuere doceri. Ovid, lib. ii. eleg. 5.

Give me, my love, that billing kiss
I taught you one delicious night,
When, turning epicures in bliss,
We tried inventions of delight.
Come, gently steal my lips along,
And let your lips in murmurs move.—
Ah, no!—again—that kiss was wrong,—
How can you be so dull, my love?
“Cease, cease!” the blushing girl replied—
And in her milky arms she caught me—
“How can you thus your pupil chide?
You know 't was in the dark you taught me!”
54

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

How sweetly could I lay my head
Within the cold grave's silent breast;
Where Sorrow's tears no more are shed,
No more the ills of life molest.
For, ah! my heart, how very soon
The glitt'ring dreams of youth are past!
And, long before it reach its noon,
The sun of life is overcast.
59

LOVE IN A STORM.

Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubautem,
Et dominam tenero continuisse sinu.
Tibullus.

Loud sung the wind in the ruins above,
Which murmur'd the warnings of Time o'er our head;
While fearless we offer'd devotions to Love,
The rude rock our pillow, the rushes our bed.
Damp was the chill of the wintry air,
But it made us cling closer, and warmly unite;
Dread was the lightning, and horrid its glare,
But it show'd me my Julia in languid delight.
To my bosom she nestled, and felt not a fear,
Though the shower did beat, and the tempest did frown:
Her sighs were as sweet, and her murmurs as dear,
As if she lay lull'd on a pillow of down!
62

SONG.

[Jessy on a bank was sleeping]

Jessy on a bank was sleeping,
A flow'r beneath her bosom lay;
Love, upon her slumber creeping,
Stole the flow'r, and flew away!
Pity, then, poor Jessy's ruin,
Who, becalm'd by Slumber's wing,
Never felt what Love was doing—
Never dream'd of such a thing.
63

TO A SLEEPING MAID.

Wake, my life! thy lover's arms
Are twin'd around thy sleeping charms:
Wake, my love! and let desire
Kindle those op'ning orbs of fire.
Yet, sweetest, though the bliss delight thee,
If the guilt, the shame affright thee,
Still those orbs in darkness keep;
Sleep, my girl, or seem to sleep.
65

SONG.

[When the heart's feeling]

When the heart's feeling
Burns with concealing,
Glances will tell what we fear to confess:
Oh! what an anguish
Silent to languish,
Could we not look all we wish to express!
When half-expiring,
Restless, desiring,
Lovers wish something, but must not say what,
Looks tell the wanting,
Looks tell the granting,
Looks betray all that the heart would be at.
67

THE BALLAD.

Thou has sent me a flowery band,
And told me 't was fresh from the field;
That the leaves were untouch'd by the hand,
And the purest of odours would yield.
And indeed it is fragrant and fair;
But, if it were handled by thee,
It would bloom with a livelier air,
And would surely be sweeter to me!
Then take it, and let it entwine
Thy tresses, so flowing and bright;
And each little flowret will shine
More rich than a gem to my sight.
68

Let the odorous gale of thy breath
Embalm it with many a sigh;
Nay, let it be wither'd to death
Beneath the warm noon of thine eye.
And, instead of the dew that it bears,
The dew dropping fresh from the tree;
On its leaves let me number the tears
That Affection has stolen from thee!
69

A DREAM.

I thought this heart consuming lay
On Cupid's burning shrine:
I thought he stole thy heart away,
And plac'd it near to mine.
I saw thy heart begin to melt,
Like ice before the sun;
Till both a glow congenial felt,
And mingled into one!
73

WRITTEN IN THE SAME. TO THE PRETTY LITTLE MRS. ------.

IMPROMPTU.

Magis venustatem an brevitatem mireris incertum est. Macrob. Sat. lib. ii. cap. 2.

This journal of folly's an emblem of me:
But what book shall we find emblematic of thee?
Oh! shall we not say thou art Love's duodecimo?
None can be prettier; few can be less, you know.
Such a volume in sheets were a volume of charms;
Or if bound, it should only be bound in our arms!
76

SONG.

[Dear! in pity do not speak]

Dear! in pity do not speak;
In your eyes I read it all,
In the flushing of your cheek,
In those tears that fall.
Yes, yes, my soul! I see
You love, you live for only me!
Beam, yet beam that killing eye,
Bid me expire in luscious pain;
But kiss me, kiss me while I die,
And, oh! I live again!
Still, my love, with looking kill,
And, oh! revive with kisses still!
77

TO ------.

In bona cur quisquam tertius ista venit? Ovid.

So! Rosa turns her back on me,
Thou walking monument! for thee;
Whose visage, like a grave-stone scribbled,
With vanity bedaub'd, befribbled,
Tells only, to the reading eye,
That underneath corrupting lie,
Within thy heart's contagious tomb,
(As in a cemetery's gloom,)
Suspicion, rankling to infection,
And all the worms of black reflection!
And thou art Rosa's dear elect,
And thou hast won the lovely trifle;
And I must bear repulse, neglect,
And I must all my anguish stifle:
79

While thou for ever linger'st nigh,
Scowling, mutt'ring, gloating, mumming,
Like some sharp, busy, fretful fly,
About a twinkling taper humming.
80

THE SHIELD.

Oh! did you not hear a voice of death?
And did you not mark the paly form
Which rode on the silver mist of the heath,
And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm?
Was it a wailing bird of the gloom,
Which shrieks on the house of woe all night?
Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb,
To howl and to feed till the glance of light?
'Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood,
Nor shivering fiend that hung in the blast;
'Twas the shade of Helderic—man of blood—
It screams for the guilt of days that are past!
83

See! how the red, red lightning strays,
And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath!
Now on the leafless yew it plays,
Where hangs the shield of this son of death!
That shield is blushing with murderous stains;
Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray;
It is blown by storms and wash'd by rains,
But neither can take the blood away!
Oft by that yew, on the blasted field,
Demons dance to the red moon's light;
While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield
Sings to the raving spirit of night!
84

TO MRS. ------.

Yes, Heav'n can witness how I strove
To love thee with a spirit's love;
To make thy purer wish my own,
And mingle with thy mind alone.
Oh! I appeal to those pure dreams
In which my soul has hung on thee,
And I've forgot thy witching form,
And I've forgot the liquid beams
That eye effuses, thrilling warm—
Yes, yes, forgot each sensual charm,
Each mad'ning spell of luxury,
That could seduce my soul's desires,
And bid it throb with guiltier fires.—
Such was my love, and many a time,
When sleep has giv'n thee to my breast,
85

And thou hast seem'd to share the crime
Which made thy lover wildly blest;
E'en then, in all that rich delusion,
When, by voluptuous visions fir'd,
My soul, in rapture's warm confusion,
Has on a phantom's lip expir'd!
E'en then some purer thoughts would steal
Amid my senses' warm excess;
And at the moment—oh! e'en then
I've started from thy melting press,
And blush'd for all I've dar'd to feel,
Yet sigh'd to feel it all again!—
Such was my love, and still, O still
I might have calm'd th'unholy thrill:
My heart might be a taintless shrine,
And thou its votive saint should be;
There, there I'd make thee all divine,
Myself divine in hon'ring thee.
But, oh! that night! that fatal night!
When, both bewilder'd, both betray'd,
We sunk beneath the flow of soul,
Which for a moment mock'd control;
And on the dang'rous kiss delay'd,
And almost yielded to delight!
86

God! how I wish'd, in that wild hour,
That lips alone, thus stamp'd with heat,
Had for a moment all the pow'r
To make our souls effusing meet!
That we might mingle by the breath
In all of love's delicious death;
And in a kiss at once be blest,
As, oh! we trembled at the rest!—
Pity me, love! I'll pity thee,
If thou indeed hast felt like me.
All, all my bosom's peace is o'er!
At night, which was my hour of calm,
When from the page of classic lore,
From the pure fount of ancient lay,
My soul has drawn the placid balm,
Which charm'd its little griefs away;
Ah! there I find that balm no more.
Those spells, which make us oft forget
The fleeting troubles of the day,
In deeper sorrows only whet
The stings they cannot tear away.
When to my pillow rack'd I fly,
With wearied sense and wakeful eye,
87

While my brain maddens, where, O where
Is that serene consoling pray'r,
Which once has harbinger'd my rest,
When the still soothing voice of Heaven
Has seem'd to whisper in my breast,
“Sleep on, thy errors are forgiven!”
No, though I still in semblance pray,
My thoughts are wandering far away;
And e'en the name of Deity
Is murmur'd out in sighs for thee!
88

FANNY OF TIMMOL.

A MAIL-COACH ADVENTURE.

Quadrigis petimus bene vivere. Horace.

Sweet Fanny of Timmol! when first you came in
To the close little carriage in which I was hurl'd,
I thought to myself, if it were not a sin,
I could teach you the prettiest tricks in the world.
For your dear little lips, to their destiny true,
Seem'd to know they were born for the use of another;
And, to put me in mind of what I ought to do,
Were eternally biting and kissing each other.
And then you were darting from eyelids so sly,—
Half open, half shutting,—such tremulous light:
Let them say what they will, I could read in your eye
More comical things than I ever shall write.
92

And oft as we mingled our legs and our feet,
I felt a pulsation, and cannot tell whether
In yours or in mine—but I know it was sweet,
And I think we both felt it and trembled together.
At length when arriv'd, at our supper we sat,
I heard with a sigh, which had something of pain,
That perhaps our last moment of meeting was that,
And Fanny should go back to Timmol again.
Yet I swore not that I was in love with you, Fanny,—
Oh, no! for I felt it could never be true;
I but said what I've said very often to many—
There's few I would rather be kissing than you!
Then first did I learn that you once had believ'd
Some lover, the dearest and falsest of men;
And so gently you spoke of the youth who deceiv'd,
That I thought you perhaps might be tempted again.
But you told me that passion a moment amus'd,
Was follow'd too oft by an age of repenting;
And check'd me so softly, that while you refus'd,
Forgive me, dear girl, if I thought 'twas consenting!
93

And still I entreated, and still you denied,
Till I almost was made to believe you sincere;
Though I found that, in bidding me leave you, you sigh'd,
And when you repuls'd me, 'twas done with a tear.
In vain did I whisper “There's nobody nigh;”
In vain with the tremors of passion implore;
Your excuse was a kiss, and a tear your reply—
I acknowledg'd them both, and I ask'd for no more.
Was I right?—oh! I cannot believe I was wrong.
Poor Fanny is gone back to Timmol again;
And may Providence guide her uninjur'd along,
Nor scatter her path with repentance and pain!
By Heav'n! I would rather for ever forswear
The elysium that dwells on a beautiful breast,
Than alarm for a moment the peace that is there,
Or banish the dove from so hallow'd a nest!
94

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER.

TO MRS. ------.

Myself, dear Julia! and the Sun,
Have now two years of rambling run;
And he before his wheels has driven
The grand menagerie of Heaven:
While I have met on earth, I swear,
As many brutes as he has there.
The only diff'rence I can see
Betwixt the flaming god and me,
Is, that his ways are periodic,
And mine, I fear, are simply oddic.
But, dearest girl! 'tis now a lapse
Of two short years, or less perhaps,
Since you to me, and I to you,
Vow'd to be ever fondly true!—
102

Ah, Julia! those were pleasant times!
You lov'd me for my am'rous rhymes;
And I lov'd you, because I thought
'Twas so delicious to be taught
By such a charming guide as you,
With eyes of fire and lips of dew,
All I had often fancied o'er,
But never, never felt before:
The day flew by, and night was short
For half our blisses, half our sport!
I know not how we chang'd, or why,
Or if the first was you or I:
Yet so 'tis now, we meet each other,
And I'm no more than Julia's brother;
While she's so like my prudent sister,
There's few would think how close I've kist her.
But, Julia, let those matters pass!
If you will brim a sparkling glass
To vanish'd hours of true delight,
Come to me after dusk to-night.
I'll have no other guest to meet you,
But here alone I'll tête-à-tête you,
103

Over a little attic feast,
As full of cordial soul at least,
As those where Delia met Tibullus,
Or Lesbia wanton'd with Catullus.
I'll sing you many a roguish sonnet
About it, at it, and upon it:
And songs address'd, as if I lov'd,
To all the girls with whom I've rov'd.
Come, pr'ythee come, you'll find me here,
Like Horace, waiting for his dear .
There shall not be to-night, on earth,
Two souls more elegant in mirth;
And though our hey-day passion's fled,
The spirit of the love that's dead
Shall hover wanton o'er our head;
Like souls that round the grave will fly,
In which their late possessors lie:
104

And who, my pretty Julia, knows,
But when our warm remembrance glows,
The ghost of Love may act anew,
What Love when living us'd to do!
 
------ puellam
Ad mediam noctem expecto.

Hor. lib. i. sat. 5.

105

AN ODE UPON MORNING.

Turn to me, love! the morning rays
Are glowing o'er thy languid charms;
Take one luxurious parting gaze,
While yet I linger in thine arms.
'Twas long before the noon of night
I stole into thy bosom, dear!
And now the glance of dawning light
Has found me still in dalliance here.
Turn to me, love! the trembling gleams
Of morn along thy white neck stray;
Away, away, you envious beams,
I'll chase you with my lips away!
106

Oh! is it not divine to think,—
While all around were lull'd in night,
While e'en the planets seem'd to wink,—
We kept our vigils of delight!
The heart, that little world of ours,
Unlike the drowsy world of care,
Then, then awak'd its sweetest pow'rs,
And all was animation there!
Kiss me once more, and then I fly,
Our parting would to noon-day last;
There, close that languid trembling eye,
And sweetly dream of all the past!
As soon as Night shall fix her seal
Upon the eyes and lips of men,
Oh, dearest! I will panting steal
To nestle in thine arms again!
Our joys shall take their stolen flight,
Secret as those celestial spheres
Which make sweet music all the night,
Unheard by drowsy mortal ears!
107

SONG.

[Oh! nothing in life can sadden us]

Oh! nothing in life can sadden us,
While we have wine and good humour in store;
With this, and a little of love to madden us,
Show me the fool that can labour for more!
Come, then, bid Ganymede fill ev'ry bowl for you,
Fill them up brimmers, and drink as I call;
I'm going to toast ev'ry nymph of my soul for you,
Ay, on my soul I'm in love with them all!
Dear creatures! we can't live without them,
They're all that is sweet and seducing to man;
Looking, sighing about and about them,
We dote on them, die for them, all that we can.
108

Here's Phillis!—whose innocent bosom
Is always agog for some novel desires;
To-day to get lovers, to-morrow to lose 'em,
Is all that the innocent Phillis requires.—
Here's to the gay little Jessy!—who simpers
So vastly good-humour'd, whatever is done;
She'll kiss you, and that without whining or whimpers,
And do what you please with you—all out of fun!
Dear creatures, &c.
A bumper to Fanny!—I know you will scorn her,
Because she's a prude, and her nose is so curl'd;
But if ever you chatted with Fan in a corner,
You'd say she's the best little girl in the world!—
Another to Lyddy!—still struggling with duty,
And asking her conscience still, “whether she should;”
While her eyes, in the silent confession of beauty,
Say “Only for something I certainly would!”
Dear creatures, &c.
109

Fill for Chloe!—bewitchingly simple,
Who angles the heart without knowing her lure;
Still wounding around with a blush or a dimple,
Nor seeming to feel that she also could cure!—
Here's pious Susan!—the saint, who alone, sir,
Could ever have made me religious outright:
For had I such a dear little saint of my own, sir,
I'd pray on my knees to her half the long night!
Dear creatures, &c.
110

SONG.

[Sweetest love! I'll not forget thee]

Sweetest love! I'll not forget thee;
Time shall only teach my heart,
Fonder, warmer to regret thee,
Lovely, gentle as thou art!—
Farewell Bessy!
Yet, oh! yet again we'll meet, love,
And repose our hearts at last:
Oh! sure 'twill then be sweet, love,
Calm to think on sorrows past.—
Farewell Bessy!
112

Yes, my girl, the distant blessing
Mayn't be always sought in vain;
And the moment of possessing—
Will't not, love, repay our pain?—
Farewell Bessy!
Still I feel my heart is breaking,
When I think I stray from thee,
Round the world that quiet seeking,
Which I fear is not for me!—
Farewell Bessy!
Calm to peace thy lover's bosom—
Can it, dearest! must it be?
Thou within an hour shalt lose him,
He for ever loses thee!—
Farewell Bessy!
113

JULIA'S KISS.

When infant Bliss in roses slept,
Cupid upon his slumber crept;
And while a balmy sigh he stole
Exhaling from the infant's soul,
He smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll scent my Julia's burning kiss!”
Nay more; he stole to Venus' bed,
Ere yet the sanguine flush had fled,
Which Love's divinest dearest flame
Had kindled through her panting frame.
Her soul still dwelt on memory's themes,
Still floated in voluptuous dreams;
And every joy she felt before
In slumber now was acting o'er.
From her ripe lips, which seem'd to thrill
As in the war of kisses still,
116

And amorous to each other clung,
He stole the dew that trembling hung,
And smiling said, “With this, with this
“I'll bathe my Julia's burning kiss!”
117

SONG.

[Think on that look of humid ray]

Think on that look of humid ray,
Which for a moment mix'd with mine,
And for that moment seem'd to say,
“I dare not, or I would be thine!”
Think, think on ev'ry smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm and move;
And then forgive my bosom's trance,
And tell me 'tis not sin to love!
Oh! not to love thee were the sin;
For sure, if Heav'n's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destin'd still to win,
As I was destin'd to be won!
123

SONG.

[A captive thus to thee, my girl]

A captive thus to thee, my girl,
How sweetly shall I pass my age,
Contented, like the playful squirrel,
To wanton up and down my cage.
When death shall envy joy like this,
And come to shade our sunny weather,
Be our last sigh the sigh of bliss,
And both our souls exhal'd together!
124

A FRAGMENT.

TO ------.

'Tis night, the spectred hour is nigh!
Pensive I hear the moaning blast
Passing, with sad sepulchral sigh,
My lyre that hangs neglected by,
And seems to mourn for pleasures past!
That lyre was once attun'd for thee
To many a lay of fond delight,
When all thy days were giv'n to me,
And mine was every blissful night.
How oft I've languish'd by thy side,
And while my heart's luxuriant tide
128

Ran in wild riot through my veins,
I've wak'd such sweetly-madd'ning strains,
As if by inspiration's fire
My soul was blended with my lyre!
Oh! while in every fainting note
We heard the soul of passion float;
While, in thy blue dissolving glance,
I've raptur'd read thy bosom's trance,
I've sung and trembled, kiss'd and sung;
Till, as we mingle breath with breath,
Thy burning kisses parch my tongue,
My hands drop listless on the lyre,
And, murmuring like a swan in death,
Upon thy bosom I expire!
Yes, I indeed remember well
Those hours of pleasure past and o'er;
Why have I liv'd their sweets to tell?
To tell, but never feel them more!
I should have died, have sweetly died,
In one of those impassion'd dreams,
When languid, silent on thy breast,
Drinking thine eyes' delicious beams,
My soul has flutter'd from its nest,
And on thy lip just parting sigh'd!
129

Oh! dying thus a death of love,
To heav'n how dearly should I go!
He well might hope for joys above,
Who had begun them here below! [OMITTED]
130

SONG.

[Where is the nymph, whose azure eye]

Where is the nymph, whose azure eye
Can shine through rapture's tear?
The sun has sunk, the moon is high,
And yet she comes not here!
Was that her footstep on the hill—
Her voice upon the gale?—
No, 'twas the wind, and all is still,
Oh, maid of Marlivale!
Come to me, love, I've wander'd far,
'Tis past the promis'd hour;
Come to me, love, the twilight star
Shall guide thee to my bow'r.
131

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

The darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls
Has long been remember'd with awe and dismay!
For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls,
And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day;
Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam,
Yet none could the woods of the castle illume;
And the lightning, which flash'd on the neighbouring stream,
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!
“Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse?”
Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave;—
“It can never dispel,” said the wizard of verse,
“Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!”
135

And who was the bright star of chivalry then?
Who could be but Reuben, the flow'r of the age!
For Reuben was first in the combat of men,
Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page.
For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,
For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,
It walks o'er the flow'rs of the mountain and lawn!
Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?
Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave,
That darkness should cover the castle for ever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!
She flew to the wizard—“And tell me, oh tell!
“Shall my Reuben no more be restor'd to my eyes?”—
“Yes, yes,—when a spirit shall toll the great bell
“Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!”
136

Twice, thrice he repeated “Your Reuben shall rise!”
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain;
She wip'd, while she listen'd, the tears from her eyes,
And she hop'd she might yet see her hero again!
Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,
When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose;
To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,
In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.—
How strangely the order of destiny falls!—
Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,
And the castle of Willumberg bask'd in the ray!
All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,
There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank:
Two days did she wander, and all the long night,
In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank.
Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,
And she heard but the breathings of night in the air;
Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,
And she saw but the foam of the white billow there.
137

And often as midnight its veil would undraw,
As she look'd at the light of the moon in the stream,
She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,
As the curl of the surge glitter'd high in the beam.
And now the third night was begemming the sky,
Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclin'd,
There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,
When,—hark!—'twas the bell that came deep in the wind!
She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;
She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decay'd,
And his helmet of silver was wash'd by the tide.
Was this what the seer of the cave had foretold?—
Dim, dim through the phantom the moon shot a gleam;
'Twas Reuben, but ah! he was deathly and cold,
And fleeted away like the spell of a dream!
138

Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought
From the bank to embrace him, but never, ah! never!
Then springing beneath, at a billow she caught,
And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever!
FINIS.
previous section The poetical works of the late Thomas Little [i.e. Thomas Moore]
no next section