(The occasion that gave rise to the following Poem, may require explanation. A Lady had presented to the Author an Emblematical Drawing, accompanied with the following Lines;
"Tel fut L'Amour au Siecle D'Or-on ne le trouve plus, mais on le cherche encore-n'offrant qu'un cœur a la Beauté, aussi nud que la Verite, sans "armes comme L'Innocence, sans ailes comme la "Constance."-)
SOFT as the down descends to deck
The plumage of the cygnet's neck,
Soft as the silent zephyrs breathe,
Nor wake the slumbering wave beneath,
Thy pencil's light and shadowy line
Describes the delicate design :-
Union of taste and skill!—to prove
"Such in the Golden Age was Love."
See where yon infant Cupid stands :—
His arm the subject globe commands ;-
There pours
his torch the living fire
Of Joy, and Hope, and bold Desire;
Around his altar lies the bow
That lays the strongest warrior low;
And darts of thrilling force, that prove
What "in the Golden Age was Love."
Yet why, where Love in height sublime
Triumphant rules o'er Fate and Time,
Where his full quiver's feathery pride
Proclaims o'er all his empire wide,
Why on his altar's trophied base
Would'st thou the name of Friendship trace?-
Not to this heart can Friendship prove
What "in the Golden Age was Love."
Friendship! the cold, reluctant name
Would quench the warmest, tenderest flame:
See, where Love lights his living lamp!
The sacred fire shall Friendship damp?
Love's arrow in my breast I feel;
No wound of Love can Friendship heal.
Ah never can thy Friendship prove
What "in the Golden Age was Love!"
And "cannot Love on earth be found
"Though sought of all, the world around?"
Is the bright charm thine hand pourtray'd,
Now vanish'd to an empty shade?
Ah no!-within this faithful breast
Still reigns the power of Love confest;
And still to thee its truth shall prove
"Such in the Golden Age was Love.”
The word L'Amitie was inscribed on the Drawing.
Ah me, methinks I hear thee say,
No hearts the power of Love obey;
No constant Bards his aid invoke
No bosoms seek his flowery yoke;
Stern Avarice breaks his trampled bow;
The myrtle withers on his brow,
While scarce a leaf remains, to prove
What" in the Golden Age was Love."
I bend to Love's triumphant throne,
"I give to thee one heart alone."
Ah when far hence compell'd to go,
I drag the torturing chain of woe,
Tho' many a fair may seek mine eye,
To thee I'll pour the faithful sigh;
And spite of time and absence, prove
"Such in the Golden Age was Love."
See Love in native beauty rise!
Like "Truth," the God rejects disguise;
Like "Innocence," he bears no arms
To shield his breast from vain alarms;
Like " Constancy," unwont to stray,
He spreads no wing to speed away.
How well Emilia's hand can prove
What "in the Golden Age was Love!”
Oh dare I hope the beauteous maid
Her Alfred's heart had there pourtray'd!
That heart, like "Truth," each thought unveil'd,
No wandering wish from her conceal'd,
Like "Innocence," unarm'd to bear
The wound her eye inflicted there,
And firm as "Constancy," should prove
THIS IS THE GOLDEN AGE OF LOVE.
WRITTEN TO A FRIEND 15th SEPT. 1801.
Eheu, fugaces Posthume, Posthume,
Labuntur anni!
AH Friend, we tread the downward road!
The vale of life extends below,
By Age, with leaden footstep trode,
And sprinkled o'er with locks of snow.
There, Winter's icy sceptre rear'd,
Around, in pale assemblage, stand
The time-worn cheek, the silver beard,
The shrinking limbs, the palsied hand.
All move in sight; and while they hail
Our near approach;-within the shade,
Dim lights that glimmer thro' the veil,
Disclose the mansions of the dead.
The Reverend William Duff, Minister of Favenan, Aberdeenshire; the ingenious author of an Essay on Original Genius, in two volumes; and the beautiful Oriental Tale, entitled, The History of Rhedi, the Hermit of Mount Ararat, &c.
When Memory, o'er the busy past
Rolls back her eye;-what forms are shown!
Young airy shapes, too gay to last;
A scene of bright illusion,-gone!
The freaks of Innocence, the play
Of Youth, that with the passing hour Skims like the bee, from spray to spray; And sucks the sweets of every flower:
At these, that tell of former days;
Trembling with age, and bent with care
We shake our heads;-yet fondly gaze;
And envy joys we cannot share.
Then, forward let us dart our sight,
Beyond the forms by Fancy brought;
Nor sink, within the double night
Of helpless age, and gloomy thought.
Together, let us stem the tide,
On Hope's light barque, in triumph born; And mark, rejoicing, as we glide
Thro' night, th' effulgent rays of morn.
Together let us break the force,
With Hope, our guardian, and our friend.
Of ills combined to check our course;
Or blackening clouds, that veil its end.
With philosophic calm, the fate
Be ours, to meet our final doom;
While SHE expands yon orient gate,
And points at scenes beyond the tomb!
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