Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light,
For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me,
Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign; Yet gently prest, press gently mine,
Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, That now at every step thou movest Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest, My Mary!
And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,
But ah! by constant heed I know, How oft the sadness that I show, Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN.
WHAT portents, from what distant region, ride, Unseen till now in ours, the astonish'd tide? In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves;
But now, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood; Dire times were they, full-charged with human woes ; And these, scarce less calamitous than those. What view we now? More wondrous still! Behold! Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold; And all around the pearl's pure splendour show, And all around the ruby's fiery glow.
Come they from India, where the burning earth, All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth; And where the costly gems, that beam around The brows of mightiest potentates, are found? No. Never such a countless dazzling store Had left, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore; Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize. Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come From Ves'vius', or from Etna's burning womb? Thus shine they self-illumed, or but display The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day?
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales, that breathe Now landward, and the current's force beneath, Have borne them nearer; and the nearer sight, Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. Their lofty summits crested high, they show, With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow, The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, Bleak Winter well-nigh saddens all the year, Their infant growth began. He bade arise Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow Left the tall cliff to join the flood below, He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile, And long successive ages roll'd the while, Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand Tall as its rival mountains on the land. Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill, Or force of man, had stood the structure still; But that, though firmly fixt, supplanted yet
By pressure of its own enormous weight, It left the shelving beach,—and with a sound That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave, As if instinct with strong desire to lave, Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old, How Delos swam the Egean deep, have told.
But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore
Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown'd with laurel, wore Even under wintry skies, a summer smile; And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle. But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey, But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away. Hence! Seek your home, nor longer rashly dare The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast, In no congenial gulf for ever lost!
IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES.
EN, quæ prodigia, ex oris allata remotis, Oras adveniunt pavefacta per æquora nostras ! Non equidem priscæ sæclum rediisse videtur Pyrrhæ, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitus alti
In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. Quid verò hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu? Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex ære vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, Baccâ cæruleâ, et flammas imitante pyropo. Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Parturit omnigenas, quibus æva per omnia sumptu Ingenti finxêre sibi diademata reges?
Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos
Mercatorum oculos: prius et quàm littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima præda fuissent. Ortos unde putemus? An illos Ves'vius atrox Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus Ætna? Luce micant propriâ, Phœbive, per aëra purum Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent ? Phœbi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Multâ onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. Cætera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma ferè omnes Contristat menses, portenta hæc horrida nobis Illa strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo Clivorum fluerent in littora prona, solutæ Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu, Illa gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese Mirum cœpit opus; glacieque ab origine rerum In glaciem aggestâ sublimes vertice tandem Aquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles. Sic immensa diu stetit, æternumque stetisset, Congeries, hominum neque vi neque mobilis arte, Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, Dum ruit in pelagum, tanquam studiosa natandi, Ingens tota strues. Sic Delos dicitur olim, Insula, in Ægæo fluitâsse erratica ponto. Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum sterilemque. Sed vestita herbis erat illa, ornataque nunquam Deciduâ lauro; et Dolum dilexit Apollo. At vos, errones horrendi, et caligine digni Cimmeriâ, Deus idem odit. Natalia vestra, Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cælum ! Ite! Redite! Timete moras; ni lenitèr austro Spirante, et nitidas Phœbo jaculante sagittas Hostili vobis, pereatis gurgite misti!
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