Poems, supressed poems | Page 4

burst
Philosophers had power.
What, has there e'er escaped a
poet?
Help, heaven! what misery to know it!
"When days are long, folks talk more stuff!
Upon your seats, no
doubt,
With all your cards and music rough,
And scribblings too,
'tis hard enough

The moments to eke out.
Idleness, like a flea will
gnaw
On velvet cushions,--as on straw.

"My brother no attempt omits
To drive away ennui;
His lightning
round about him flits,
The target with his storms he hits
(Those
howls prove that to me),
Till Rhea's trembling shoulders ache,
And
force me e'en for hell to quake.
"Were I grandfather Coelus, though,
You wouldn't soon escape!

Into my belly straight you'd go,
And in your swaddling-clothes cry
'oh!'
And through five windows gape!
First o'er my stream you'd
have to come,
And then, perhaps, to Elysium!
"Your steed you mounted, I dare say,
In hopes to catch a goose;
If it
is worth the trouble, pray
Tell what you've heard from me to-day,

At shaving time, to Zeus.
Just leave him then to swallow it;
I don't
care what he thinks a bit;
"You'd better now go homeward straight!
Your servant! there's the
door!
For all your pains--one moment wait!
I'll give you--liberal is
the rate--
A piece of ruby-ore.
In heaven such things are rareties;

We use them for base purposes."
BOOK III.
The god at once, then, said farewell,
At small politeness striving;

When sudden through the crowds of hell
A flying courier rushed
pell-mell,
From Tellus' bounds arriving.
"Monarch! a doctor
follows me!
Behold this wondrous prodigy!"
"Place for the doctor!" each one said--
He comes with spurs and whip,

To every one he nods his head,
As if he had been born and bred

In Tartarus--the rip!
As jaunty, fearless, full of nous
As Britons in
the Lower House.
"Good morrow, worthy sirs!--Ahem!
I'm glad to see that here

(Where all they of Prometheus' stem
Must come, whene'er the Fates
condemn)

One meets with such good cheer!
Why for Elysium care

a rush?
I'd rather see hell's fountains gush!"
"Stop! stop! his impudence, I vow,
Its due reward shall meet;
By
Charles's wain, I swear it now!
He must--no questions I'll allow,--

Prescribe me a receipt.
All hell is mine, I'm Pluto hight!
Make haste
to bring your wares to light!"
The doctor, with a knowing look,
The swarthy king surveyed;
He
neither felt his pulse, nor took
The usual steps,--(see Galen's book),--
No difference 'twould have made
As piercing as electric fire
He
eyed him to his heart's desire.
"Monarch! I'll tell thee in a trice
The thing that's needed here;

Though desperate may seem the advice--
The case itself is very nice--

And children dragons fear.
Devil must devil eat!--no more!--

Either a wife,--or hellebore!
"Whether she scold, or sportive play,
('Tween these, no medium's
known),
She'll drive the incubus away
That has assailed thee many
a day
Upon thine iron throne.
She'll make the nimble spirits fleet

Up towards the head, down towards the feet."
Long may the doctor honored be
Who let this saying fall!
He ought
to have his effigy
By Phidias sculptured, so that he
May be
discerned by all;
A monument forever thriving,
Boerhaave,
Hippocrates, surviving!
REPROACH--TO LAURA.
Maiden, stay!--oh, whither wouldst thou go?
Do I still or pride or
grandeur show?
Maiden, was it right?
Thou the giant mad'st a dwarf once more,

Scattered'st far the mountains that of yore

Climbed to glory's sunny height.
Thou hast doomed my flowerets to decay,
All the phantoms bright
hast blown away,
Whose sweet follies formed the hero's trust;
All my plans that
proudly raised their head
Thou dost, with gentle zephyr-tread,
Prostrate, laughing, in the dust.
To the godhead, eagle-like, I flew,--
Smiling, fortune's juggling wheel
to view,
Careless wheresoe'er her ball might fly;
Hovering far beyond
Cocytus' wave,
Death and life receiving like a slave--
Life and death from out one beaming eye!
Like the victors, who, with thunder-lance,
On the iron plain of glory
dance,
Starting from their mistress' breast,--
From Aurora's rosy bed
upsprings
God's bright sun, to roam o'er towns of kings,
And to make the young world blest!
Toward the hero doth this heart still strain?
Drink I, eagle, still the
fiery rain
Of thine eye, that burneth to destroy?
In the glances that destructive
gleam,
Laura's love I see with sweetness beam,--
Weep to see it--like a boy!
My repose, like yonder image bright,
Dancing in the
waters--cloudless, light,

Maiden, hath been slain by thee!
On the dizzy height now totter I--

Laura--if from me--my Laura fly!
Oh, the thought to madness hurries me!
Gladly shout the revellers as they quaff,
Raptures in the leaf-crowned
goblet laugh,
Jests within the golden wine have birth,
Since the maiden hath
enslaved my mind,
I have left each youthful sport behind,
Friendless roam I o'er the earth.
Hear I still bright glory's thunder-tone?
Doth the laurel still allure me
on?
Doth thy lyre, Apollo Cynthius?
In my breast no echoes now arise,

Every shamefaced muse in sorrow flies,--
And thou, too, Apollo Cynthius?
Shall I still be, as a woman, tame?
Do my pulses, at my country's
name,
Proudly burst their prison-thralls?
Would I boast the eagle's soaring
wing?
Do I long with Roman blood to spring,
When my Hermann calls?
Oh, how sweet the eye's wild gaze divine
Sweet to quaff the incense
at that shrine!
Prouder, bolder, swells the breast.
That which once set