« PreviousContinue »
For I was as it were a child of thee,
'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,
Or lulld by falling waters ; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds,
The lisp of children, and their earliest words.
Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes
In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth, Purple and gushing : sweet are our escapes
From civic revelry to rural mirth; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps ;
Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth ; Sweet is revenge—especially to women, Pillage to soldiers, prize money to seamen.
Canto 1. Stanzas 123, 124.
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence ; man may range
The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart,
Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart,
And few there are whom these cannot estrange ; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone,
I was most ready to return a blow, And would not brook at all this sort of thing, In my hot youth, when George the Third was king.
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations
Holland, France, England, Germany, or SpainI pray ye flog them upon all occasions, I It mends their morals-never mind the pain.
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell —
Then shriek’d the timid, and stood still the brave,Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And thus like to an angel o'er the dying
Who die in righteousness, she lean’d.
Ceres presents a plate of vermicelli, —
For love must be sustain'd like flesh and bloodWhile Bacchus pours out wine, or hands a jelly : Eggs, oysters, too, are amatory
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk ;
The best of life is but intoxication :
The hopes of all men, and of every nation Without their sap, how branchless were the trunk
Of life's strange tree, so fruitful on occasion : But to return, -Get very
and when You wake with headach, you shall see what then.
An infant, when it gazes on a light,
A child, the moment when it drains the breast, A devotee when soars the host in sight,
An Arab with a stranger for a guest.
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture, but not such true joy are reaping
Alas! the love of women! it is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing ; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,
And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone,
And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing ; yet, as real Torture is theirs—what they inflict they feel !
O love! what is it in this world of ours
Which makes it fatal to be loved ? Ah! why With cypress
branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh! As those who dote on odours pluck the lowers,
And place them on their breast—but place to die Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.
And as the spot where they appear he nears,
Surprised at these unwonted signs of idling,
The cubless tigress in her jungle raging
Is dreadful to the shepherd and the flock;
Is awful to the vessel near the rock;
Their fury being spent by its own shock,
Canto III. Stanza 58.
A lady with her daughters or her nieces
Stanza 60. The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece !
Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where
the arts of war and peace,-
Some kinder casuists are pleased to say,
In nameless print, that I have no devotion ; But set those persons down with me to pray, And you shall see who has the
notion Of getting into heaven the shortest way ;
My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Earth, air, stars,—all that springs from the great Whole,
Who hath produced and will receive the soul.