Imatges de pàgina
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XX.

Into ALCAICS.

O Thou who flowest down with resounding stream through the bottom of the valleys, Thee in the foliage of its groves, Thee in the ruin of its torn-off leaf the quaking wood acknowledges as Lord. If the wood murmurs, the inmost caves reecho with hoarse voices; the stricken tower, which length of time has strengthened, rocks in its seat. Yet the country is sweet, the lovely delights of the country ever will remain; O Clyde if thou ragest in rushing friths, yet thou flowest rich in gifts. That the flowerets lurking in the scattered grass grow up in dew, this is your boon; that they are sprinkled with a grateful draught along the sharp rocks of your bank.

XXI.

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright;
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple moon's transparent light
Around its unexpanded buds;

Like many a voice of one delight—
The winds, the birds, the ocean's floods:
The city's voice itself is soft, like solitude's.

I see the deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple seaweed strown:

I see the waves upon the shore,

Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown;

I sit upon the sands alone,

The lightning of the noontide ocean

Is flashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measured motion,

How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion !

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,

Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content surpassing wealth,
The sage in meditation found,

And walk'd with inward glory crown'd—
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure.
Others I see whom these surround,

Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;

To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Shelley.

XXI.

Into ELEGIACS.

The fiery warmth of the Sun glows in the clearness of the heaven, the wave illumined sets in motion fleet dances. In purple light the island of the sea glitters afar, the mountain's peak is bright beneath purple snow. The flowers are now scarce swelling from various stems; there one voice gives a thousand sounds of joy. The waves of ocean, the blasts of the winds, the birds—in the city repose reigns as in the desert. I see the surface of the sea, untouched by mortal foot, where the purple of the green seaweed lies mingled. I see the mad waves striking the shores, just as stars gleam with light drawn forth. Nay solitary I sit beside the solitary sands, as the stricken wave scatters a reflected beam. I could delight to catch the sounding murmurs, if breast could be united with my breast. I have not firm health, nor hope accompanying health; I enjoy not peace within, nor rest abroad. Not (that) which surpasses wealth, and heaps of rich gold, not a mind content-. ed with its lot is given to me, This the wise man alone works out by habit of meditation; in whose breast glory shines, honour in

his heart. I have seen the happy, whom fame, power surrounds; or love, or grateful ease beguiles their days. Life smiles on these, life to these is only pleasure; I have cups mingled with a different wine.

XXII.

Yet now despair itself is mild,

E'en as the winds and waters are:
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear;
Till death-like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air

My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I were cold,
A's I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan:

They might lament-for I am one

Whom men love not :-and yet regret,
Unlike this day, which, when the sun

Shall on its stainless glory set,

Will linger, though enjoy'd, like joy in memory yet.

Into ELEGIACS.

XXII.

Shelley.

The despairing hope of (my) subdued mind grows mild, as the violence of the wind is calmed, the rage of the sea. But

now laid upon the ground I could weep as a wearied infant; both what I have borne of old, and what remain to be borne. I could complain of life wretched, and rife with cares, until, like death, calm quiet should steal over me. I might feel, although a more genial air blow upon it, some unknown chill come gradually over my cheeks. Dying I might hear how the murmurs of the hoarse sea fall continually repeated on my worn-out senses. There are who might complain of the quenched glow of my breast, because this day's repose cannot touch me; and because my heart is heavy with premature old age, and pours forth vain murmurs from a heavy bosom. They might perchance thus complain—“ He loves (not), nor is loved, by any ;" but the complaint would be mingled with regret. Not so, when this day's light be set in shade, and the honour of the setting sun cease in light. That which now shines delightful, so delightful will attract hereafter, will bring the sure joys of mindful pleasure.

THE SAILOR AND HIS MOTHER.

XXIII.

A widow mother had a lad,

Now sixteen years was he;

And nothing would content his heart,

But he must go to sea.

Then said the widow, " God is great

Upon both sea and land;

And sailor people He must have,

And lives are in His hand."

So with many thoughts of waves and rocks,
She put a Bible in his box;

She

And as he took the key,

gave him in her tears a kiss,

Saying, "William, when you read in this,

You'll often think of me."

Lynch-Theophilus Trinal.

Into ELEGIACS.

XXIII.

There was once to a widowed mother a son, her best hope, four times four years he had completed. But ardent in spirit he hung upon one wish, that he might seek the hidden perils of the briny sea. But said the widow," God's power is sole and supreme, over the plains of the earth, and in the paths of the sea. That His counsels may be done, He needs sailors as His ministers, and the destinies of sailors He holds in His power.” Thus meditating with herself what the sea, what the rocks threaten, she takes care that there should be in his chest the consecrated page. But when she delivered to him the key of the hallowed pledge, and mingled with her tears imprinted kisses, she said, “My dear one, as you read the sacred volume, oh I pray may you be ever mindful of me absent.”

XXIV.

Picton and Crawfurd were, however, not formed by nature to act cordially together. The stern countenance, robust frame, saturnine complexion, caustic speech, and austere demeanour of the first, promised little sympathy with the short thick figure, dark flashing eyes, quick movements, and fiery

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