« ForrigeFortsett »
I lost my way, and my companions me,
Now on the colder water faintly shone The sloping light — the cheerful day was gone; Frown'd every cloud, and from the gather'd frown The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down. My torpid senses now my fears obey'd, When the fierce lightning on the eye-balls play'd. Now, all the freshness of the morning fled, My spirits burden'd, and my heart was dead; The female servants show'd a child their fear, And men, full wearied, wanted strength to cheer; And when, at length, the dreaded storm went
And there was peace and quietness at last, 'T was not the morning's quiet—it was not Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot:
It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
So many a day, in life's advance, I knew;
The promised joy, that like this morning rose, Broke on my view, then clouded at its close; E'en Love himself, that promiser of bliss, Made his best days of pleasure end like this: He mix'd his bitters in the cup of joy Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy.
WHY force the backward heart on love, That of itself the flame might feel? When you the Magnet's power would prove, Say, would you strike it on the Steel?
From common flints you may by force
Excite some transient sparks of fire;
But when, approaching by degrees,
So must the Lover find his way
To move the heart he hopes to win
For such attractive power has Love,
STORM AND CALM.
[FROM THE ALBUM OF THE DUCHEss of rutland.]
Ar sea when threatening tempests rise,
When angry winds the waves deform, The seaman lifts to Heaven his eyes,
And deprecates the dreaded storm. "Ye furious powers, no more contend; "Ye winds and seas, your conflict end; "And on the mild subsiding deep, "Let Fear repose and Terror sleep!"
At length the waves are hush'd in peace, O'er flying clouds the sun prevails; The weary winds their efforts cease,
And fill no more the flagging sails; Fix'd to the deep the vessel rides Obedient to the changing tides;
No helm she feels, no course she keeps,
Sick of a Calm the sailor lies,
And views the still, reflecting seas; Or, whistling to the burning skies,
He hopes to wake the slumbering breeze : The silent noon, the solemn night, The same dull round of thoughts excite, Till, tired of the revolving train, He wishes for the Storm again.
Thus, when I felt the force of Love,
When all the passion fill'd my breast, When, trembling, with the storm I strove, And pray'd, but vainly pray'd, for rest; 'T was tempest all, a dreadful strife For ease, for joy, for more than life: 'T was every hour to groan and sigh In grief, in fear, in jealousy.
I suffer'd much, but found at length
I slept, I waked, and, morn and eve,
No thought arose the soul to grieve,
Of wearied passions still and tame.— "Alas!" I cried, when years had flown"Must no awakening joy be known? "Must never Hope's inspiring breeze "Sweep off this dull and torpid ease— "Must never Love's all-cheering ray Upon the frozen fancy play — "Unless they seize the passive soul, "And with resistless power control? "Then let me all their force sustain, "And bring me back the Storm again."
I LOVE not the satiric Muse: