THE TOM B. FRAGMENT XL.2 "To this complexion must we come at last." SHAKSPEARE. I. AND must I, ghastly guest of this dark dwelling, Pale senseless tenant! must I come to this? a Scribbled on a tablet amidst the sombre but interesting ruins of Sligo Abbey. And must this heart congeal, now warmly swell ing To woe's soft languor, rapture's melting bliss? II. And must this pulse that beats to joy's gay mea sure, (Throbbing with bloomy health!) this pulse lie still, And every sense alive to guileless pleasure Resist, oh transport! thy warm vital thrill? III. And must each sensient feeling too decay, (Each feeling anguish'd by another's sorrow) This form, that blushes youth and health to-day, Lie cold and senseless thus like thee to-morrow? IV. Terrific death! to shun thy dreaded pow'r, Who would not brave existence' direst strife, But that beyond thy dark shade's gloomy low'r Faith points her vista to eternal life! HEALTH. FRAGMENT XLI. NYMPH of the mountain! blithsome maid, Whose bloom no midnight revels fade; That breath'st the grey dawn's scented air, And with its dew-pearls deck'st thy hair; Thy brow with Alpine myrtle crown'd, Thy waist with deathless aloes bound, Thy lip with wild-bees' nectar dew'd, Thy cheek imbrown'd, and rosed with blushes Warm as the rich carnation flushes, Thy step of devious frolic measure, To its most favour'd object given, Source of the richest joys the heart Can feel, or senses can impart, Enchantress Health! what offering, say, What tribute can thy vot'rist pay, While now, delicious nymph, you shed Your richest blessings o'er her head? This smile is thine, this laughing eye, This form suffused with thy warm dye, By thee alone, oh Health! were given, |