Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]

WITH Vineyards thick the Valley is bestrewn :
The richest fruits vie with the verdant vine;
The scented melon, pear, peach, nectarine,
Sweet almonds, and oil-olives, here are grown.
Rude rocky hills, as natural ramparts, thrown
In circuit vast around us, would incline
The quick imagination to divine
This vale the abode of Abyssinia's son.

It is a prison, which, alas! not yields
The varied charms of that romantic vale:
Stone walls and dusty lanes-no fresh green fields,-
Like Libyan serpents, round our gardens trail:
Frogs croak at eve in petty ponds of stone

In concert with dull fountains' feeble moan.

XV.

ON DISCOVERING SOME GREEN FIELDS NEAR A NEW

RESIDENCE IN THE VALLEY OF MARSEILLES.

As the tired Traveller toils his weary way
Across Arabia's burning sands, oppress'd
With inextinguishable thirst—of rest
Denied the blessing at the close of day;
He rises unrefreshed with morning's ray,
By thirst and weariness at once distress'd;
Anon fresh gales from Araby the bless'd,
Breathing rich fragrance, o'er his features play.
Thus, to the senses, are these fresh green fields,
Of one, who, many months, hath never seen
Their verdant beauty; such sweet pleasure yields
The fall of waters,-and this world of green,—
The budding leaves of the reviving trees—

The life that revels on the vernal breeze.

XVI.

THE SERPENT'S SKIN.

And there the snake throws her enamelled skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT'S DREAM.

THE high-born Knight of ancient chivalry! ✓ m //
Ne'er went forth vested in such coat of mail,
Wrought with such strength and beauty to prevail
In battle, as this skin, which to the eye
Seems fragile as a cobweb. Vainly try
Man's imitative art. From head to tail

[ocr errors]

'Tis like the work of Fairy-hands; yet frail
It doth but seem; strength, elasticity,

Form the rare vestment of this curious creature. I
Those bright cups once held eyes, that mouth a sting
Instinct with death. The Almighty Lord of Nature
With beauty linketh terror.-Shuddering
We think of that Great Serpent, with hushed breath,
Whose mortal sting caused universal Death*.a

The above Sonnet was occasioned by a beautiful skin of a snake having been found in the garden of my house in the south of France.

[blocks in formation]

WRITTEN IN FRANCE, DURING THE APPEARANCE OF THE COMET IN 1828.

WHEN I behold the glory of the sky,

As bends the blue vault, beautiful and bright,

Above my

head on this soft southern night

When vainly I endeavour to descry

The Comet wandering mid the infinity

Of starry orbs where angels dwell, my sight,
Blent with my mind, soars upward in delight,
Swimming in silent, sober ecstasy.

[ocr errors]

In swift succession throng sad thoughts of grief-
Of friends far distant in my native clime→→
Of one more near, yet sickening in her prime
Of life, which shows as Autumn's yellow leaf.
But when life ends, Faith whispers we shall be
Among those stars, from earthly sorrows free.

XVIII.

A NIGHT SCENE IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.

THE Moon was up, and in her matchless might
Of beauty gemmed the heavens; no envious cloud,
That hung around her, durst attempt to shroud
Her silver torch. But fleecy, soft, and white,
A troop of courtiers revelling in her light,

The clouds flocked round the Queen of heaven,

proud

To fill her train. She left the flattering crowd,
And, swanlike, swam into the infinite

Expanse of ether that before her lay;

A lovely vessel, launched into the blue
Interminable vault, she sped away,

And on the noiseless wing of Silence flew.
As clear, as unobstructed be my view,

When my freed soul shall pass into eternal day.

[ocr errors]
« PoprzedniaDalej »