-Alas! that one thus disciplined could toil That, when his age was measured with his aim, ; Where now the haughty Empire that was spread With such fond hope? her very speech is dead ; Yet glorious Art the power of Time defies, And Trajan still, through various enterprise, Mounts, in this fine illusion, toward the skies: Still are we present with the imperial Chief, Nor cease to gaze upon the bold relief Till Rome, to silent marble unconfined, Becomes with all her years a vision of the mind. SEPTEMBER 1819. DEPARTING Summer hath assumed An aspect tenderly illumed, The gentlest look of Spring; That calls from yonder leafy shade No faint and hesitating trill— Nor doth the example fail to cheer Fall, rosy garlands, from my head! Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed Around a younger brow! Yet will I temperately rejoice; Wide is the range, and free the choice Which, haply, kindred souls may prize And passion's feverish dreams. For deathless powers to verse belong, But some their function have disclaimed. Not such the initiatory strains Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale, Of nature was withdrawn ! Nor such the spirit-stirring note And not unhallowed was the page Love listening while the Lesbian Maid O ye, who patiently explore That were, indeed, a genuine birth Of genius from the dust! What Horace gloried to behold, Can haughty Time be just? ODE TO LYCORIS. MAY 1817. I. AN age hath been when Earth was proud To be sustained; and mortals bowed Who then, if Dian's crescent gleamed, II. In youth we love the darksome lawn Then, Twilight is preferred to Dawn, Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect Thee, thee my life's celestial sign !) Pleased with the harvest hope that runs Pleased while the sylvan world displays Its ripeness to the feeding gaze; Pleased when the sullen winds resound the knell Of the resplendent miracle. III. But something whispers to my heart That, as we downward tend, Lycoris! life requires an art Whose smiles, diffused o'er land and sea, Seem to recall the Deity Of youth into the breast: May pensive Autumn ne'er present A claim to her disparagement! While blossoms and the budding spray Still, as we nearer draw to life's dark goal, Be hopeful Spring the favourite of the soul! |