Imágenes de página

Raphael, who died in thy embrace, and vies

With all we know of heaven, or can desire,
In what he hath bequeathed us ?-in what guise,

Though flashing from the fervour of the lyre,
Would words describe thy past and present glow,
While yet Canova can create below ?

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)

Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise

Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, And love than either; and there would arise

A something in them which was not desire, But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul Which struggled through and chasten'd down the


Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow

Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,

Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,

As if her veins ran lightning ! she, in sooth, Possess'd an air and grace by no means common : Her stature tall— I hate a dumpy woman.

Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind,

And tremulously gentle her small hand
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind

A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland And slight, so very slight, that to the mind

'Twas but a doubt; but ne'er magician's wand

Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art
Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart.
And if she met him, though she smiled no more,

She look'd a sadness sweeter than her smile,
As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store

She must not own, but cherish'd more the while For that compression in its burning core;

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth. But passion most dissembles yet betrays

Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays

Its working through the vainly guarded eye,
And in whatever aspect it arrays

Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy;
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.
Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,

And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, though for no transgression,

Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left; All these are little preludes to possession,

Of which young passion cannot be bereft, And merely tend to show how greatly Love is Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.

She ceased, and turn'd upon her pillow; pale

She lay, her dark eyes flashing through their tears, Like skies that rain and lighten; as a veil,

Wayed and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears

Her streaming hair ; the black curls strive, but fail,

To hide the glossy shoulder, which uprears Its snow through all ;–her soft lips lie apart, And louder than her breathing beats her heart.

JULIA'S LETTER. “ They tell me 'tis decided; you depart :

'Tis wise__’tis well, but not the less a pain; I have no further claim on your young heart,

Mine is the victim, and would be again ;
To love too much has been the only art

I used ;-I write in haste, and if a stain
Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears,
My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.
I loved, I love you, for this love have lost

State, station, heaven, mankind's, my own esteem, And yet cannot regret what it hath cost,

So dear is still the memory of that dream;
Yet, if I name my guilt, 'tis not to boast,

None can deem harshlier of me than I deem;
I trace this scrawl because I cannot rest
I've nothing to reproach, or to request.
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,

'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart,

Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,

And few there are, whom these can not estrange; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone. You will proceed in pleasure and in pride,

Beloved, and loving many; all is o'er

For me on earth, except some years to hide

My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core :
These I could bear, but cannot cast aside

The passion which still rages as before,
And so farewell_forgive me, love me-No,
That word is idle now-_but let it go.
My breast has been all weakness, is so yet;

But still I think I can collect my mind;
My blood still rushes where my spirit's set,

As roll the waves before the settled wind :
My heart is feminine, nor can forget

To all, except one image, madly blind;
So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,
As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul.
I have no more to say, but linger still,

And dare not set my seal upon this sheet;
And yet I may as well the task fulfil,

My misery can scarce be more complete : I had not lived till now, could sorrow kill : meet,

Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would And I must even survive this last adieu, And bear with life, to love and pray for you !”

KALED. Light was his form, and darkly delicate That brow whereon his native sun had sate, But had not marred, though in his beams he grew, The cheek where oft the unbidden blush shone

through ; Yet not such blush as mounts when health would All the heart's hue in that delighted glow; (show But 'twas a hectic tint of secret care That for a burning moment fever'd there;

And the wild sparkle of his eye seem'd caught
From high, and lightend with electric thought,
Though its black orb those long low lashes’ fringe
Had temper'd with a melancholy tinge;
Yet less of sorrow than of pride was there,
Or if 'twere grief, a grief that none should share :
And pleased not him the sports that please his age,
The tricks of youth, the frolics of the page ;
For hours on Lara he would fix his glance,
As all forgotten in that watchful trance ;
And from his chief withdrawn, he wander'd lone,
Brief were his answers, and his questions none;
His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book:
His resting-place the bank that curbs the brook :
He seem'd, like him he served, to live apart
From all that lures the eye, and fills the heart;
To know no brotherhood, and take from earth
No gift beyond that bitter boon our birth.

If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown
His faith in reverence and in deeds alone;
In mute attention; and his care, which guess'd
Each wish, fulfilled it ere the tongue expressed.
Still there was haughtiness in all he did,
A spirit deep that brook'd not to be chid ;
His zeal, though more than that of servile hands,
In act alone obeys, his air commands ;
As if 'twas Lara's less than his desire
That thus he served, but surely not for hire.
Slight were the tasks enjoin'd him by his jord,
To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword;
To tune his lute, or if he will'd it more,
On tomes of other times and tongues to pore;
But ne'er to mingle with the menial train,
To whom he showed nor deference nor disdain,

« AnteriorContinuar »