And roses, and Castalian hills;
He thought a lover's vow grew sweeter
When it meandered into metre,
And planted every speech with flowers
Fresh blooming from Aonian bowers.
"Laura, I perish for your sake!” (Here he digressed about a lake)"The charms thy features all disclose "(A simile about a rose)—
"Have set my very soul on fire;"
(An episode about his lyre)—
"Though you despise, I still must love;" (Something about a turtle dove)— "Alas! in death's unstartled sleep". (Just here he did his best to weep)— "Laura, the willow soon shall wave Over thy lover's lowly grave."
Then he began with pathos due
But fortune's unforeseen award
Parted the beauty from the bard;
For Laura, in that evil hour
When unpropitious stars had power,
Unmindful of the thanks she owed,
Lighted her taper with an ode!
Poor William all his vows forgot,
And hurried from the fatal spot
In all the bitterness of quarrel,
To write lampoons, and dream of laurel.
Years fleeted by, and every grace
Began to fade from Laura's face;
Through every circle whispers ran,
And aged dowagers began
To gratify their secret spite:
"How shocking Laura looks to-night!
We know her waiting-maid is clever,
But rouge won't make one young for ever;
Laura should think of being sage,
You know she's of a certain age."
Her wonted wit began to fail,
Her eyes grew dim, her features pale,
Her fame was past, her race was done;
Her lovers left her one by one;
Her slaves diminished by degrees,
They ceased to fawn, as she to please.
Last of the gay deceitful crew
Chremes, the usurer, withdrew;
By many an art he strove to net
The guineas of the rich coquette,
But (so the adverse fates decreed)
Chremes and Laura disagreed;
For Chremes talked too much of stocks
And Laura of her opera-box.
Unhappy Laura! sadness marred What tints of beauty time had spared; For all her wide extended sway
Had faded like a dream away,
And they that loved her passed her by
With altered or averted eye.
That silent scorn, that chilling air,
The fallen tyrant could not bear;
She could not live when none admired,
And perished, as her reign expired.
I gazed upon that lifeless form
So late with hope and fancy warm,-
That pallid brow,—that eye of jet
Where lustre seemed to linger yet,
Where sparkled through an auburn tress
The last dim light of loveliness,
Whose trembling ray was only seen
To bid us sigh for what had been.
Alas! I said my wavering soul
Was torn from woman's weak control;
But when, amid the evening's gloom,
I looked on Laura's early tomb,
And thought on her, so bright and fair,
That slumbered in oblivion there,
That calm resolve I could not keep,
And then I wept,—as now I weep.
THE CONFESSION OF DON CARLOS.
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
O TELL not me of broken vow-
I speak a firmer passion now;
O tell not me of shattered chain-
The link shall never burst again!
My soul is fixed as firmly here
As the red sun in his career,
As victory on Mina's crest,
Or tenderness in Rosa's breast;
Then do not tell me, while we part,
Of fickle flame and roving heart;
While youth shall bow at beauty's shrine,
That flame shall glow-that heart be thine.
Then wherefore dost thou bid me tell
The fate thy malice knows so well?
I may not disobey thee !—Yes!
Thou bidst me-and I will confess:
See how adoringly I kneel:
Hear how my folly I reveal:—
My folly!-chide me if thou wilt,
Thou shalt not, canst not, call it guilt:-
And when my faithlessness is told,
Ere thou hast time to play the scold,
I'll haste the fond rebuke to check,
And.lean upon thy snowy neck,
Play with its glossy auburn hair,
And hide the blush of falsehood there.
Inez, the innocent and young,
First shared my heart, and waked my song;
We were both harmless, and untaught
To love as fashionables ought;
With all the modesty of youth
We talked of constancy and truth,
Grew fond of music and the moon,
And wandered on the nights of June
To sit beneath the chesnut tree,
While the lonely stars shone mellowly,
Shedding a pale and dancing beam
On the wave of Guadalquivir's stream.
And aye we talked of faith and feelings,
With no distrustings, no concealings;
And aye we joyed in stolen glances,
And sighed, and blushed, and read romances. Our love was ardent and sincere,
And lasted, Rosa,-half a year!
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