THOU say'st, my friend, some deem it wondrous strange,
When nought of ill, or insult, meets mine ear,
To see, while mute my tongue, my features change,
Now smile in high disdain, now frown severe.
O can I chuse but smile, to see the throng
Of fluttering things that Folly's triumph swells,
Each by some strange delirium whirled along,
Self-worshipped, glorying in his cap and bells?
And I must frown, to think that many a time
Drones bask and fatten in the sunny ray:
That many a reptile, foul with darkest crime,
Braves with unblushing front the gaze of day: While scorned its claims, and damped its noble fires, Insulted Worth indignantly retires.
MONUMENT OF THE REV. W. MASON.
THESE awful mansions of the laurelled dead,
Oft shall the Muse of Melancholy tread;
The wreck of valour, and of genius mourn,
And point with pallid hand to Mason's urn;
Oft shall she gather from his garden bowers,
Fictitious foliage, and ideal flowers;
Weave the bright wreath, to worth departed just,
And hang the unfading chaplets on his bust:
While pale Elfrida, bending o'er his bier,
Breathes the soft sigh, and sheds the graceful tear,
And stern Caractacus, with brow depressed,
Clasps the cold marble to his mailed breast;
In lucid troops shall choral Virgins throng,
With voice alternate chaunt their Poet's song,
And tune "in golden characters record
Each firm, immutable, eternal word,”
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND SWIFT, ESQ.
BEST master of the Rhodian art,
Come paint the fair one of my heart;
Though absent from my view she be,
Paint her as I describe to thee:-
First, be her waving curls pourtray'd,
That softly darken to a shade;
And if the wax such power assume,
Depict them breathing rich perfume.
Above her cheek, of swelling grace,
The forehead's matchless ivory trace,
Whose lily mountain glitters, set
Beneath her locks of violet.
Nor strongly mark'd, nor all unseen,
Depict the space her brows between,
That scarcely part, yet scarcely meet,
Just like the lovely maid complete:
Below each stately arch design
The silken lashes' shadowy line.
Now, bright as that which decks the dame,
Aspire to paint her eye of flame,
Like Pallas', bright with piercing blue,
Like Venus', soft and trembling too.
On her ambrosial cheek disclose
The milky bath that steeps the rose.
Paint Suada's lip of love, and kisses
That melt the soul to living blisses.
Her well-turn'd chin display below;
And round the neck, whose polish'd snow
Not Parian marble can outvie,
Let all the' attendant Graces fly.
Now in a robe of purple light
Her nameless beauties veil from sight;
Yet through the mantle some should shine,
To tell each hidden charm divine.
'Tis done-perhaps the wax will prove
Inspir'd to speak, to live, to love.
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND SWIFT, ESQ.
ER come, with faithful hand, Paint my boy as I command!— First pourtray his tresses shining, Bright, yet to a shade declining. Hanging loose, with careless care, Spread his neat and glossy hair;
With sublimely azure bow,
Arch his soft and dewy brow;
Fierce and darkling be his eye,
Temper'd with serenity.
Let him that from Mars inherit,
This from Venus' milder spirit,
Thus whoever meets their fire,
Fear may chill, and Hope inspire.
Ruddier than the apple's streak,
Deeply tint his downy cheek;
And, if thou canst give it place,
Breathe a blush of modest grace.
But his lip, where softness swells,
And Persuasion pouting dwells,
Never can by me be shown,
While untasted by mine own.
Now through all the portrait give
Silent speech, and looks that live.
Fairer than did Adon' deck,
Picture then his ivory neck,
And his bosom swelling free,
With the hands of Mercury.
Why should I describe his feet?
Take thy price, the work's complete-
Driving Phoebus from his shrine,
There display the toil divine,
And when you my boy behold,
Cast Apollo in his mold.
|