These might the boldest sylph appal, When gleaming with meridian blaze; hy beauty must enrapture all; But who can dare thine ardent gaze? 'Tis said that Berenice's hair In stars adorns the vault of heaven; For did those eyes as planets roll, Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere. (1) 1806. TO WOMAN WOMAN! experience might have told me Oh memory! thou choicest blessing When join'd with hope, when still possessing; But how much cursed by every lover When hope is fled and passion's over. (1) "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, To twinkle in their spheres till they return."-SHAKSP. Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, TO M. S. G. WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive; For in visions alone your affection can live,— Then, Morpheus! envelope my faculties fast, Shed o'er me your languor benign; Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last, What rapture celestial is mine! They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality's emblem is given; To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, (1) The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow, If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient ! When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient. TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. (1) THIS faint resemblance of thy charms, Here I can trace the locks of gold Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye, Must all the painter's art defy, And bid him from the task retire. (1) Of this "Mary," who is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or "Mary" of Aberdeen, all that has been ascertained is, that she was of an humble, if not equivocal, station in life, and that she had long light golden hair, " of which," says Moore," he used to show a lock, as well as her picture, among his friends."- E. Here I behold its beauteous hue; But where's the beam so sweetly straying (1) Which gave a lustre to its blue, Like Luna o'er the ocean playing? Sweet copy! far more dear to me, Than all the living forms could be, Save her who placed thee next my heart. She placed it, sad, with needless fear, Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there Held every sense in fast control. Through hours, through years, through time, 'twill cheer; My hope, in gloomy moments, raise; In life's last conflict 'twill appear, And meet my fond expiring gaze. TO LESBIA. LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 'tis I, not you, have changed, I'd tell you why, (1) In the private volume but yet I know not. But where's the beam of soft desire ? Which gave a lustre to its blue, Love, only love, could e'er inspire. — E. Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; Sixteen was then our utmost age, Two years have lingering past away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage, At least I feel disposed to stray, love! 'Tis I that am alone to blame, I, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason. I do not, love! suspect your truth, With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not; Warm was the passion of my youth, One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. No, no, my flame was not pretended; No more we meet in yonder bowers; But older, firmer hearts than ours Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, |