'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, That I had rather die, than once remove it. Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
Not a sigh nor a tear my pain discloses,
But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
Thus to prevent my love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel;
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
Where I conceal my love no frown can fright
BRIGHT, O BRIGHT FEDALMA!
(From "The Spanish Gypsy.")
The image of themselves by turns, the idol of past years.
AIDEN, crowned with glossy blackness, Of her bright face one glance will trace a
Lithe as panther forest roaming,
Long-armed naiad, when she dances,
On a stream of ether floating,
Bright, O bright Fedalma!
From all curves, like softness drifted,
Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling,
Far-off music slowly winged,
Gently rising, gently sinking,
Bright, O bright Fedalma!
Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf,
Cloud high-born in noon-day spotless,
Sudden perfect as the dew-bead,
Gem of earth and sky begotten,
Bright, O bright Fedalma!
Beauty has no mortal father,
Holy light her form engendered
Out of tremor, yearning, gladness,
Presage sweet and joy remembered,
Child of light, Fedalma!
Hid over the door and hid under the hearth,
Hoarded and hid, as the world went over,
For the love of a blonde by a sun-browned
lover;
FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness And I said to myself, as I set my face
The coinage of her heart are they, and from She shall lift her head, she shall see her lover,
FAREWELL TO NANCY.
E fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae farewell, alas forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met, or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted!
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever,
Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS.
ELIA and I, the other day,
Walked o'er the sand-hills to the sea;
The setting sun adorned the coast,
His beams entire his fierceness lost,
And on the surface of the deep
The wind lay only not asleep.
The nymph did, like the scene, appear
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair;
Soft fell her words as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.
But, O, the change! The winds grow high,
Impending tempests charge the sky,
The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
The big waves lash the frightened shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head and wings her flight,
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore or view the main.
"Once more at least look back," said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry;
When thou art in good humor dressed,
When gentle reason rules thy breast,
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee;
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of love;
I bless my chain, I hand mine oar,
Nor think on all I left on shore.
"But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear,
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me the rising storm is nigh,
'Tis then thou art yon angry main,
Deformed by winds and dashed by rain;
And the poor sailor that must try
Its fury, labors less than I.
Shipwrecked, in vain to land I make,
While love and fate still drive me back;
Forced to dote on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey;
Wretched when from thee, vexed when nigh. I with thee, or without thee, die.
WOOING STUFFE.
SAINT amorist, what! dost thou think To taste love's honey, and not drink One drop of gall? or to devour
A world of sweet, and taste no sour?
Dost thou e'er think to enter
The Elysian fields, that durst not venture
In Charon's barge? A lover's mind
Must use to sail with every wind.
He that loves, and fears to try,
Learns his mistress to deny.
Doth she chide thee? 'Tis to show it,
That thy coldness makes her do it.
Is she silent? Is she mute?
Silence fully grants thy suit.
Doth she pout, and leave the room?
Then she goes to bid thee come.
Is she sick? Why, then, be sure,
She invites thee to the cure.
Doth she cross thy suit with no?
Tush! she loves to hear thee woo.
Doth she question faith of man?
Nay, forsooth, she loves thee then.
He that after ten denials
Dares attempt no further trials,
Hath no warrant to acquire
The dainties of his chaste desire.
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