Contented if he could subscribe To whitewash that base renegado ; And plough'd and sow'd, while others Nay-tho' he hid it from the many— 81 STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY [MRS. ADERS] ON HER RECOVERY WITH UNBLEMISHED LOOKS, FROM A SEVERE ATTACK OF PAIN 'TWAS my last waking thought, how it could be That thou, sweet friend, such anguish should'st endure; When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf, and he Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure. Methought he fronted me with peering look Fix'd on my heart; and read aloud in game The loves and griefs therein, as from a book: And uttered praise like one who wished to blame. In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin Two Founts there are, of Suffering and of Cheer! That to let forth, and this to keep within! Had passed: yet I, my sad thoughts to But she, whose aspect I find imaged here, Of Pleasure only will to all dispense, That Fount alone unlock, by no distress Choked or turned inward, but still issue thence Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness. As on the driving cloud the shiny bow, That gracious thing made up of tears and light, Mid the wild rack and rain that slants below beguile, Lay weaving on the tissue of my dream; 40 Till audibly at length I cried, as though Thou hadst indeed been present to my eyes, O sweet, sweet sufferer; if the case be so, I pray thee, be less good, less sweet, less wise ! In every look a barbed arrow send, Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly Do any thing, rather than thus, sweet bright: 20 As though the spirits of all lovely flowers, Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown, Or ere they sank to earth in vernal showers, Had built a bridge to tempt the angels down. Even so, Eliza! on that face of thine, On that benignant face, whose look alone (The soul's translucence thro' her crystal shrine !) friend! Has power to soothe all anguish but Yet why at others' wanings should'st thine own, thou fret? Then only might'st thou feel a just regret, A beauty hovers still, and ne'er takes Iladst thou withheld thy love or hid thy And tort'ring Genius of the bitter spring, O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings LINES SUGGESTED BY THE LAST WORDS OF BERENGARIUS OB. ANNO DOM. 1088 Like the weak worm that gems the starless night, Moved in the scanty circlet of his light: And was it strange if he withdrew the ray That did but guide the night-birds to their prey? No more 'twixt conscience staggering The ascending day-star with a bolder and the Pope THE IMPROVISATORE OR, JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO, JOHN' Scene-A spacious drawing-room, with music-room adjoining. Katharine. What are the words? Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore; here he comes. Kate has a favour to ask of you, Sir; it is that you will repeat the ballad that Mr. sang so sweetly. Friend. It is in Moore's Irish Melodies; but I do not recollect the words distinctly. The moral of them, however, I take to be this : Love would remain the same if true, When we were neither young nor new; Yea, and in all within the will that came, By the same proofs would show itself the same. Eliz. What are the lines you repeated from Beaumont and Fletcher, which my mother admired so much? It begins with something about two vines so close that their tendrils intermingle. We'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit; mourn; One age go with us, and one hour of death Kath. A precious boon, that would go far to reconcile one to old age-this love-if true! But is there any such true love? Fri. I hope so. Kath. But do you believe it? Eliz. (eagerly). I am sure he does. Fri. From a man turned of fifty, Katharine, I imagine, expects a less confident answer. Kath. A more sincere one, perhaps. Fri. Even though he should have obtained the nick-name of Improvisatore, by perpetrating charades and extempore verses at Christmas times? A grave Eliz. Nay, but be serious. Fri. Serious! Doubtless. personage of my years giving a lovelecture to two young ladies, cannot well be otherwise. The difficulty, I suspect, would be for them to remain so. It will be asked whether I am not the ' elderly gentleman' who sate 'despairing beside a clear stream,' with at willow for his wig-block. Eliz. Say another word, and we will call it downright affectation. Kath. No! we will be affronted, drop a courtesy, and ask pardon for our presumption in expecting that Mr. would waste his sense on two insignificant girls. Fri. Well, well, I will be serious. Hem! Now then commences the discourse; Mr. Moore's song being the text. Love, as distinguished from Friendship, on the one hand, and from the passion that too often usurps its name, on the other— Lucius (Eliza's brother, who had just joined the trio, in a whisper to the Fri. You mean Charles' speech to Friend). But is not Love the union of Angelina, in The Elder Brother. We'll live together, like two neighbour vines, both? Fri. (aside to Lucius). He never loved who thinks so. |