Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

STANZAS.

If sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,

I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemned, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy Memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;

I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.

If not the goblet pass unquaffed,
It is not drained to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free,

I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drowned a single thought of thee.

For wert thou vanished from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind,

To honor thine abandoned Urn?
No, no it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, "Tis meet that I remember still.

For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourned shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou;
And, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly love to merit thee.

FAREWELL.

FAREWELL! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky.
"T were vain to speak, to weep, to sigh;
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word - Farewell! - Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain, Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we loved in vain

I only feel-Farewell! - Farewell!

ΤΟ

BRIGHT be the place of thy soul !
No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine,
When we know that thy God is with thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be:

There should not be the shadow of gloom, In aught that reminds us of thee.

Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest:

But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

LEILA.

HER eyes dark charm 't were vain to tell,
But gaze on that of the gazelle,
It will assist thy fancy well;

As large, as languishingly dark,
But soul beamed forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid,
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.
Yea, soul, and should our prophet say
That form was nought but breathing clay,
By Alla! I would answer nay;
Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood
Which totters o'er the fiery flood,

With paradise within my view,
And all his houris beckoning through.
Oh! who young Leila's glance could read
And keep that portion of his creed
Which saith that woman is but dust,
A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?
On her might Muftis gaze, and own
That through her eye the Immortal shone;
On her fair cheek's unfading hue
The young pomegrante's blossoms strew
Their bloom in blushes ever new;
Her hair in hyacinthine flow,
When left to roll its folds below,
As 'midst her handmaids in the hall
She stood superior to them all,

Hath swept the marble where her feet
Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet,
Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water;
So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
The loveliest bird of Franguestan!
As rears her crest the ruffled swan,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride,
When pass the steps of stranger man

Along the banks that bound her tide;

Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck:

Thus armed with beauty would she check
Intrusion's glance, till folly's gaze

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE?"

THE "Origin of Love!"- Ah, why
That cruel question ask of me,
When thou may'st read in many an eye
He starts to life on seeing thee?

And should'st thou seek his end to know:
My heart forbodes, my fears foresee,

He'll linger long in silent woe;

But live until I cease to be.

« AnteriorContinuar »