TO THALIARCHUS. BEHOLD yon mountain's hoary height, Made higher with new mounts of snow; Again behold the winter's weight Oppress the laboring woods below; And streams with icy fetters bound, Benumbed and cramped to solid ground. With well-heaped logs dissolve the cold, And sprightly wit of love inspires. Let him alone, with what he made, To toss and turn the world below; At his command the storms invade; The winds by his commission blow; Till with a nod he bids them cease, And then the calm returns, and all is peace. To-morrow and her works defy Lay hold upon the present hour, And snatch the pleasures passing by, To put them out of Fortune's power. Nor Love, nor Love's delights, disdain; Whate'er thou gett'st to-day is gain. Secure those golden, early joys, That youth, unsoured by sorrow, bears, Ere withering Time the taste destroys With sickness and unwieldy years. For active sports, for pleasing rest, This is the time to be possest; The best is but in season best. Th' appointed hour of promised bliss, The laugh that guides thee to the mark When the kind nymph would coyness feign, And hides but to be found again: These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain. HORACE (Latin.) Translation of JOHN DRYDEN. WELCOME, WELCOME. Welcome, welcome, do I sing, Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Love, that still looks on your eyes, Love, that still may see your cheeks, Is a fool if e'er he seeks Other lilies, other roses. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Love, to whom your soft lip yields, Never, never shall be missing. Love, that question would anew And a brief of that behold. WILLIAM BROWNE THE might of one fair face sublimes my love, For it hath weaned my heart from low desires; Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires. From those sweet eyes that are my earthly heaven, For they are guiding stars, benignly given ΤΟ ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it. One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love; And the Heavens reject not: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. THE GIRL OF CADIZ. I. Он, never talk again to me Of northern climes and British ladies; It has not been your lot to see Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz. Although her eyes be not of blue, Nor fair her locks, like English lasses', How far its own expressive hue The languid azure eye surpasses! II. Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes; And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses. III. Our English maids are long to woo, Their lips are slow at Love's confession; But, born beneath a brighter sun, For love ordained the Spanish maid is, And who, when fondly, fairly won,Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz? IV. The Spanish maid is no coquette, And if she love, or if she hate, Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, though it will not bend to gold, 'T will love you long, and love you dearly. V. The Spanish girl that meets your love She dares the deed and shares the danger; THE heath this night must be my bed, Far, far from love and thee, Mary; I may not, dare not, fancy now And all it promised me, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught! Shall be a thought on thee, Mary! To my young bride and me, Mary! SIE WALTER SCOTT. |