« AnteriorContinuar »
II.ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones. Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way,
III. —ON HIS BLINDNESS.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he, returning, chide;
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
IV.—TO MR. LAWRENCE.
LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun.
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touched, or artful voice
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
V.-ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint
Purification in the old law did save,
Full sight of her in heaven without restraint,
Her face was veiled; yet to my fancied sight
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
But, O! as to embrace me she inclined,
SPEECH AND SONG OF THE LADY IN
This is the place, as well as I may guess,
SWEET Echo, sweetest nymph, that livest unseen
Within thy aery shell,
Where the love-lorn nightingale
That likest thy Narcissus are ?
O, if thou have
Tell me but where,
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lovest to greet the early morn, Again thou usherest in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hearest thou the groans that rend his breast ?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallowed grove Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past
Thy image at our last embrace !
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last !
Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green;
Twined amorous round the raptured scene.
love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
TO THE PRIMROSE.
MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire !
Was nursed in whirling storms,
Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway,
Thee on this bank he threw