« PreviousContinue »
"If still your angel footsteps move,
Where mine may never be, My lady love, my lady love,
Oh, dream one dream of me !"
Not long the Christian captive pined !
My Whole was round his neck;
So white a skin to deck;
With gems or golden store,
Will rarely sigh for more ;-
My body to the sea,
Oh, weep one tear for me !"
Row on, row on !—The First may light
Row on, row on !—The Second is high
Row on, row on!—When the Whole is fled,
One day my First young Cupid made
In Vulcan’s Lemnian cell, For alas ! he has learn’d his father's trade,
As many have found too well; He work'd not the work with golden twine,
He wreathed it not with flowers,
The roses to fade in the bowers :
Of painful doubts and fears,
Of eloquent smiles and tears.
My Second was born a wayward thing
Like others of his name, With a fancy as light as the gossamer's wing,
And a spirit as hot as flame, And apt to trifle time away,
And rather fool than knave, And either very gravely gay,
Or very gayly grave;
And far too weak, and far too wild,
And far too free of thought,
On Vulcan’s anvil wrought.
And alas ! as he led, that festal night,
His mistress down the stair, And felt, by the flambeau's flickering light,
That she was very fair,
How music's dying tone
With a inagic all its own-
Was lingering in the porch,
With a sooty face and torch.
When Ralph by holy hands was tied
For life to blooming Cis, Sir Thrifty too drove home his bride,
A fashionable Miss, That day, my First, with jovial sound
Proclaim'd the happy tale, And drunk was all the country round
With pleasure-or with ale.
Oh, why should Hymen ever blight
The roses Cupid wore ?-
Where it was day before ?—
Or why should it be curs’d, In being, like my Second, long,
And louder than my First?