I learnt the danger, chose the hour of love
Not one of them but what shall be immortal. Canst thou forgive me all my follies past, I'll henceforth be indeed a father; never, Never more thus expose, but cherish thee, Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life: Dear as these eyes that weep in fondness o'er thee. Peace to thy heart. Farewell. Bel.
T' attempt his heart, and bring it back to honour. Great love prevail'd, and bless'd me with success; He came, confess'd, betray'd his dearest friends, For promised mercy. Now they're doom'd to suffer. Gall'd with remembrance of what then was sworn, If they are lost, he vows to appease the gods With this poor life, and make my blood the atone- Pri. Heavens! Bel. Think you saw what past at our last part- "Tis Belvidera's life her father pleads for. Think you beheld him like a raging lion, [ing; Pacing the earth, and tearing up his steps, Fate in his eyes, and roaring with the pain Of burning fury; think you saw one hand Fix'd on my throat, whilst the extended other Grasp'd a keen threatening dagger: Oh! 'twas thus We last embraced; when, trembling with revenge, He dragg'd me to the ground, and at my bosom Presented horrid death; cried out, My friends! Where are my friends? swore, wept, raged, threaten'd, loved.
For yet he loved, and that dear love preserved me To this last trial of a father's pity.
I fear not death, but cannot bear a thought That that dear hand should do the unfriendly office. If I was ever then your care, now hear me; Fly to the senate, save the promised lives
Of his dear friends, ere mine be made the sacrifice. Pri. Oh, my heart's comfort! Bel. Weep not, but answer me.
Will you not, my father?
COME all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled
By cruel beauty's pride,
Bring each a garland on his head,
Let none his sorrows hide : But hand in hand around me move, Singing the saddest tales of love; And see, when your complaints ye join, If all your wrongs can equal mine. The happiest mortal once was I, My heart no sorrow knew ; Pity the pain with which I die,
But ask not whence it grew ; Yet if a tempting fair you find, That's very lovely, very kind, Though bright as heaven whose stamp she Think on my fate and shun her snares.
BEAUTY and Love fell once at odds, And thus reviled each other: Quoth Love, I am one of the gods, And thou wait'st on my mother; Thou hadst no power on man at all But what I gave to thee; Nor are you longer sweet, or fair, Than men acknowledge me.
Away, fond boy, then Beauty cried, We know that thou art blind; And men of nobler parts they can Our graces better find:
"Twas I begot the mortal snow, And kindled men's desires; I made thy quiver and thy bow, And wings to fan thy fires.
Cupid in anger flung away. And thus to Vulcan pray'd,
That he would tip his shafts with scorn, To punish his proud maid.
*These extracts from the Loyal Garland have been placed among the Specimens according to the date of the edition. Most of the poetry in that miscellany is of a much older date.
So ever since Beauty has been But courted for an hour;
To love a day is held a sin 'Gainst Cupid and his power.
O'ER the rolling waves we go, Where the stormy winds do blow, To quell with fire and sword the foe That dares give us vexation. Sailing to each foreign shore, Despising hardships we endure, Wealth we often do bring o'er,
That does enrich the nation. Noble-hearted seamen are, Those that do no labour spare, Nor no danger shun or fear
To do their country pleasure. In loyalty they do abound, Nothing base in them is found; But they bravely stand their ground In calm and stormy weather. In their love and constancy None above them e'er can be: As the maidens daily see, Who are by seamen courted:
Of Trinity College, Cambridge, published a volume of poems of the date 1685.
Is thy voice mellow, is it smart? Art Venus for thy beauty?
If kind, and tart, and chaste thou art, I'm bound to do thee duty.
Though pretty Mall or bonny Kate, Hast thou one hair adulterate,
I'm blind, and deaf, and out of heart. Amanda, thou art kind, well-bred, Harmonious, sweetly kind;
If thou wilt wed my virgin bed,
And taste my love, thou'rt to my mind; Take hands, lips, heart, and eyes, Are all too mean a sacrifice.
[* This song is by Aphra Behn, the Astræa of Pope"The stage how loosely does Astræa tread,"
and is in "Abdelazer, or the Moor's Revenge."]
[† N. Hook and Philip Ayres are writers very little known, and scarcely meriting a place in these Selections. In no collection of our poets (and our so-called "British Poets" have been made general and mediocre enough), have they ever found a place, in no Biographical Dictionary are their names included, and without Mr. Campbell's resurrection
With me that languish in despair, Oppress'd by Cynthia's hate and scorn; And do not this poor boon deny,
I ask but silence while I die.
ON THE SIGHT OF HIS MISTRESS'S HOUSE.
To view these walls each night I come alone, And pay my adoration to the stone; Whence joy and peace are influenced on me, For 'tis the temple of my deity.
As nights and days an anxious wretch by stealth Creeps out to view the place which hoards his wealth,
So to this house, that keeps from me my heart, I come, look, traverse, weep, and then depart.†
of them they must have slept with "Time and with Tom Hearne." A reader may be allowed to smile at Mr. Campbell's very general love for poetry in its essence, and his endeavours to recover and embalm decayed bodies, at his taste, and his general goodnature. Mr. Campbell's criticisms are everywhere distinguished by a discerning and cultivated mind, his selections at times by a kindness for the dead, and an anxiety to give what Mr. Ellis had not given.]
EDMUND WALLER.
[Born, 1605. Died, 1687.]
THE lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field; But if (the promise of a cloudless day) Aurora, smiling, bids her rise and play, Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of Or power to climb, she made so low a choice: Singing she mounts; her airy wings are stretch'd Tow'rds heaven, as if from heaven her note she fetch'd.
So we, retiring from the busy throng, Use to restrain th' ambition of our song; But since the light which now informs our age Breaks from the court, indulgent to her rage, Thither my Muse, like bold Prometheus, flies, To light her torch at Gloriana's eyes.
ON MY LADY DOROTHY SYDNEY'S PICTURE. SUCH was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame! The matchless Sydney, that immortal frame Of perfect beauty, on two pillars placed, Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced With such extremes of excellence, compose Wonders so distant in one face disclose! Such cheerful modesty, such humble state, Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.
All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found, Amazed we see in this one garland bound. Had but this copy (which the artist took From the fair picture of that noble book) Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had jarr'd, And, rivals made, th' ensuing story marr'd. Just Nature, first instructed by his thought, In his own house thus practised what he taught. This glorious piece transcends what he could think, So much his blood is nobler than his ink!
HAD Dorothea lived when mortals made Choice of their deities, this sacred shade Had held an altar to her power that gave The peace and glory which these alleys have;
Embroider'd so with flowers where she stood, That it became a garden of a wood.
Her presence has such more than human grace, That it can civilize the rudest place; And beauty too, and order, can impart, Where Nature ne'er intended it, nor art. The plants acknowledge this, and her admire, No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre. If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd, They round about her into arbours crowd; Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand, Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band. Amphion so made stones and timber leap Into fair figures, from a confused heap: And in the symmetry of her parts is found A power like that of harmony in sound.
Ye lofty beeches! tell this matchless dame, That if together ye fed all one flame, It could not equalize the hundredth part Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart!- Go, boy, and carve this passion on the bark Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sydney's birth;* when such benign, Such more than mortal-making stars did shine, That there they cannot but for ever prove The monument and pledge of humble love; His humble love whose hope shall ne'er rise higher Than for a pardon that he dares admire.
THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE APPLIED.† THYRSIS, a youth of the inspired train, Fair Sacharissa loved, but loved in vain : Like Phoebus sung the no less am'rous boy; Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy! With numbers he the flying nymph pursues, With numbers such as Phoebus' self might use ! Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads, O'er craggy mountains, and through flow'ry Invoked to testify the lover's care, Or form some image of his cruel fair. Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer, O'er these he fled; and now approaching near, Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay, Whom all his charms could not incline to stay. Yet what he sung in his immortal strain, Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain : All but the nymph that should redress his wrong, Attend his passion, and approve his song. Like Phoebus, thus acquiring unsought praise, He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arm with bays.
WHILE in this park I sing, the list'ning deer Attend my passion, and forget to fear; When to the beeches I report my flame, They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. To thee a wild and cruel soul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the
Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign Thyself a Sydney? from which noble strain He sprung, that could so far exalt the name Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame; That all we can of love or high desire, Seems but the smoke of am'rous Sydney's fire. Nor call her mother who so well does prove One breast may hold both chastity and love. Never can she, that so exceeds the Spring In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring One so destructive. To no human stock We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock, That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side Nature, to recompense the fatal pride
Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs Which not more help than that destruction brings. Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan Melt to compassion: now my trait'rous song With thee conspires to do the singer wrong; While thus I suffer not myself to lose The memory of what augments my woes; But with my own breath still foment the fire, Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!
This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce Of just Apollo, president of verse;
Highly concerned that the Muse should bring Damage to one whom he had taught to sing: Thus he advised me: "on yon aged tree Hang up my lute, and hie thee to the sea, That there with wonders thy diverted mind Some truce, at least, may with this passion find." Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain Flies for relief into the raging main,
And from the winds and tempests does expect A milder fate than from her cold neglect! Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove Bless'd in her choice; and vows this endless love Springs from no hope of what she can confer, But from those gifts which heaven has heap'd on her.
ANGER, in hasty words or blows, Itself discharges on our foes; And sorrow too finds some relief In tears, which wait upon our grief: So ev'ry passion but fond love Unto its own redress does move; But that alone the wretch inclines To what prevents his own designs; Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep, Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures which render him despised, Where he endeavours to be prized. For women (born to be controll'd,) Stoop to the forward and the bold; Affect the haughty and the proud, The gay, the frolic, and the loud. Who first the gen'rous steed opprest Not kneeling did salute the beast, But with high courage, life, and force, Approaching, tamed th' unruly horse. Unwisely we the wiser East
Pity, supposing them opprest With tyrants' force, whose law is will, By which they govern, spoil, and kill: Each nymph, but moderately fair, Commands with no less rigour here. Should some brave Turk, that walks among His twenty lasses, bright and young, And beckons to the willing dame, Preferr'd to quench his present flame, Behold as many gallants here, With modest guise and silent fear, All to one female idol bend,
While her high pride does scarce descend To mark their follies, he would swear That these her guard of eunuchs were, And that a more majestic queen, Or humbler slaves, he had not seen.
All this with indignation spoke, In vain I struggled with the yoke Of mighty Love: that conqu'ring look, When next beheld, like lightning strook My blasted soul, and made me bow Lower than those I pitied now.
So the tall stag, upon the brink Of some smooth stream about to drink, Surveying there his armed head, With shame remembers that he fled The scorned dogs, resolves to try The combat next; but if their cry Invades again his trembling ear, He straight resumes his wonted care, Leaves the untasted spring behind, And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.
OF MY LADY ISABELLA PLAYING THE LUTE. SUCH moving sounds from such a careless touch! So unconcern'd herself, and we so much! What art is this, that with so little pains Transports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns? The trembling strings about her fingers crowd, And tell their joy for ev'ry kiss aloud.
Small force there needs to make them tremble so; Touch'd by that hand who would not tremble too? Here Love takes stand, and while she charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the list'ning deer. Music so softens and disarms the mind, That not an arrow does resistance find. Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize, And acts herself the triumph of her eyes: So Nero once, with harp in hand, survey'd His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd.
LOVE'S FAREWELL.
TREADING the path to nobler ends, A long farewell to love I gave, Resolved my country and my friends
All that remain'd of me should have.
And this resolve no mortal dame,
None but those eyes could have o'erthrown; The nymph I dare not, need not name,
So high, so like herself alone.
Thus the tall oak, which now aspires Above the fear of private fires, Grown and design'd for nobler use,
Not to make warm, but build the house, Though from our meaner flames secure, Must that which falls from heaven endure.
THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done. It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer. My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.
Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows
When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare May read in thee,
How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair.*
[* The following verse was added by Kirke White in a copy of Waller's Poems:
Yet though thou fade,
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise;
And teach the maid
That goodness time's rude hand defies, That virtue lives when beauty dies.]
OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.
NoT caring to observe the wind, Or the new sea explore, Snatch'd from myself how far behind Already I behold the shore!
May not a thousand dangers sleep In the smooth bosom of this deep? No: 'tis so rockless and so clear, That the rich bottom does appear Paved all with precious things; not torn From shipwreck'd vessels, but there born. Sweetness, truth, and every grace, Which time and use are wont to teach, The eye may in a moment reach And read distinctly in her face.
Some other nymphs, with colours faint, And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, And a weak heart in time destroy; She has a stamp, and prints the boy; Can with a single look inflame The coldest breast, the rudest tame.
THE SELF-BANISHED.
IT is not that I love you less, Than when before your feet I lay; But to prevent the sad increase Of hopeless love, I keep away.
In vain, alas! for every thing Which I have known belong to you Your form does to my fancy bring,
And makes my old wounds bleed anew. Who in the spring, from the new sun,
Already has a fever got,
Too late begins those shafts to shun,
Which Phoebus through his veins has shot. Too late he would the pain assuage,
And to thick shadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted blood the fire. But vow'd I have, and never must Your banish'd servant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust
The vow I made to love you too.
THE NIGHT-PIECE, OR A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK.
DARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms, Defends us ill from Mira's charms: Mira can lay her beauty by, Take no advantage of the eye, Quit all that Lely's art can take, And yet a thousand captives make.
Her speech is graced with sweeter sound Than in another's song is found; And all her well-placed words are darts, Which need no light to reach our hearts. As the bright stars and Milky-way, Show'd by the night, are hid by day;
« AnteriorContinuar » |