THE FIRST LEAF OF AN ALBUM.
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
Ut Pictura, Poesis.---Hor. de Art. Poet.
Two lovely Sisters here unite
To blend improvement with delight;
Painting and Poetry engage
By turns to deck the Album's page.
each glowing Picture be The quintessence of Poësy,
With skill so exquisitely wrought,
As if the colours were pure thought,—
Thought from the bosom's inmost cell,
By magic tints made visible,
That, while the eye admires, the mind
Itself, as in a glass, may find.
the Poet's verse, alike,
With all the power of Painting strike ;
So freely, so divinely trace,
In every line, the line of grace;
And beautify, with such sweet art,
The image-chamber of the heart,
That Fancy here may gaze her fill,
Forming fresh scenes and shapes at will,
Where silent words alone appear,
Or, borrowing voice, but touch the ear.
Yet humble Prose with these shall stand; Friends, kindred, comrades, hand in hand, All in this fair enclosure meet,
The Lady of the Book to greet,
And, with the pen or pencil, make
These leaves love-tokens, for her sake.
Two thousand years on Tadmor's sand
Has roved the Arab's robber-band;
Two thousand years on Sidon's shore
The rose and myrtle are no more;
Two thousand years on Lebanon
The sound of voice and string is done.
Yet once was Syria's hill and grove
The seat of beauty, pomp, and love :
And by the swift Orontes' tide
Roved many a maiden falcon-eyed;
And many a minstrel told the tale
That turned her cheek of roses pale;
And shewed the bower where Cupid slept,
And shewed where Psyche waked and wept,
And taught their harps' delicious swell
The parting Love-God's wild farewell.
"Twas eve; from Persia's vale afar Wheeled up the moon her pearly car;
The breeze its flowery incense gave,
In living coolness rushed the wave,
The orange-bud was crowned with dew
The twilight star was beaming blue;
And on the wave came murmuring,
As if they dropt from Twilight's wing,
Like echoes of a loftier sphere,
The tones that more than touch the ear,
The deep, sweet whispers to the heart,
That make the tear in silence start,
And fill the heaven-uplifted eye
With gleams of visioned luxury.
There was the place and then the hour
When Psyche stole to Cupid's bower.
In chains of sleep the youth was laid :
Above him stooped the myrtle shade;
No meteor light, no starry beam
Within the mystic bower must gleam,
Even, Psyche, thy love-lighted eye
Must look not, or but look, to die.
Yet woman, woman in her soul!
As to the sacred bower she stole,
One frantic wish within her sprung.
Above the sleeping form she hung,
His perfumed breath her tresses fanned,
The lamp was quivering in her hand –
""Twas but one glance 'twixt her and heaven,
The crime, love's crime, must be forgiven."
She glanced! -Along the troubled air
Uprose an echo of despair,
The thunder o'er the forest rolled,
The tale of love and life was told.
No arrow from the twanging string
Plunged in her bosom's inmost spring;
No poison chilled her panting breath;
She caught one look, the look was death.
She saw a form of living fire,
The king of passions, in his ire!
Farewell, thou faithless one, farewell!"
The avenger cried.- The victim fell
With dying eye, and voiceless tongue :
Heart-broken, withering, still she clung,
Clung to the spot, still, still adored,
Laid down her head, where lay her lord;
Fixed on his flight her last, long gaze,
And perished with his parting blaze.
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