Poems (1828) | Page 4

pale,?'Till it was waked again by the soft breath?That steals in music from those lips of love.?Wert thou a statue I could pine for thee,?But in thy living beauty there is awe;?The sacredness of modesty enshrines?The ruby lip, bright brow, and beaming eye;--?I dare but worship what I must not love.
ON THE PORTRAIT
OF THE SON OF J.G. LAMBTON, ESQ., M.P.
BY SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE, P.R.A.
Beautiful Boy--thy heavenward thoughts?Are pictured in thine eyes,?Thou hast no taint of mortal birth,?Thy communing is not of earth,?Thy holy musings rise:?Like incense kindled from on high,?Ascending to its native sky.
And such a head might once have graced?The infant Samuel, when?Call'd by the favour of his God,?The youthful priest the Temple trod?Beloved of Heaven and men!?The same devotion on his brow?As brightens in thy forehead now.
Or, thou may'st seem to Fancy's eye?One borne by arms Divine;?One, whom on Earth a Saviour bless'd,?And on whose features left impress'd?The Contact's holy sign:?A light, a halo, and a grace,?So pure th' expression of that face.
Or, has the Painter's skill alone?Such grace and glory given??Clothed thee with attributes which seem?Creations of an angel's dream,?To raise the soul to Heaven??_No, as he found thee, he arrayed,?And Genius taught what God had made!_
WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM
OF THE LADY OF COUNSELLOR D. POLLOCK.
Joy to thee, Lady! many years of joy?To thee--and thine--that springtide of the heart,?The bliss of virtuous love, without alloy.?And all that health and gladsome life impart.?How gracefully hast thou thy task perform'd,?The watchful tender mother, matchless wife;?All woman boasts--thou hast indeed adorn'd--?Thine the high merit of an useful life.?For ever cheerful, though the Tragic Muse[1]?May call thee Sister, both in form and mind;?Thou do'st to all those envied charms transfuse,?Which shine so highly temper'd and refined.?Lady revered--the sunbeam and the rose?Are poor in beauty to sweet woman's smiles:?'Tis the bright sunset of life's awful close,?The Poet's deathless wreath! a spell all grief beguiles!
[Footnote 1: The Lady, to whom these lines are addressed has been greatly noticed for the strong resemblance she bears to Mrs. Siddons.]
THE HELIOTROPE.
There is a flower, whose modest eye?Is turn'd with looks of light and love,?Who breathes her softest, sweetest sigh.?Whene'er the sun is bright above.
Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil,?Her fond idolatry is fled,?Her sighs no more their sweets exhale.?The loving eye is cold--and dead.
Canst thou not trace a moral here,?False flatterer of the prosperous hour??Let but an adverse cloud appear,?And Thou art faithless, as the Flower!
SONNET.
ON SEEING A YOUNG LADY,
I HAD PREVIOUSLY KNOWN, CONFINED IN A MADHOUSE.
Sweet wreck of loveliness! alas, how soon?The sad brief summer of thy joys hath fled:?How sorrows Friendship for thy hapless doom,?Thy beauty faded, and thy hopes all dead.?Oh! 'twas that beauty's power which first destroy'd?Thy mind's serenity; its charms but led?The faithless friend, that thy pure love enjoy'd,?To tear the beauteous blossom from its bed.?How reason shudders at thy frenzied air!?To see thee smile, with fancy's dreams possess'd;?Or shrink, the frozen image of despair.?Or, love-enraptured, chant thy griefs to rest:?Oh! cease that mournful voice, affliction's child,?My heart but bleeds to hear thy musings wild.
PROMETHEUS.
What sovereign good shall satiate man's desires,?Propell'd by Hope's unconquerable fires??Vain each bright bauble by ambition prized;?Unwon, 'tis worshipp'd--but possess'd, despised.?Yet all defect with virtue shines allied,?His mightiest impulse genius owes to pride.?From conquer'd science graced with glorious spoils,?He still dares on, demands sublimer toils;?And, had not Nature check'd his vent'rous wing,?His eye had pierced her at her primal spring.
Thus when, enwrapt, Prometheus strove to trace?Inspired perceptions of celestial grace,?Th' ideal spirit, fugitive as wind,?Art's forceful spells in adamant confined:?Curved with nice chisel floats the obsequious line;?From stone unconscious, beauty beams divine;?On magic poised, th' exulting structure swims,?And spurns attraction with elastic limbs.?While ravish'd fancy vivifies the form;?While judgment toils to analyze its charm;?While admiration spreads her speaking hands;?The lofty artist undelighted stands.?He longs to ravish from the bless'd abodes?The seal of heaven, the attribute of gods;?To give his labour more than man can give,?Breathe Jove's own breath, and bid the marble live!
Won from her woof, embellishing the skies,?Descending, Pallas soothes her vot'ry's sighs,?Where, 'midst the twilight of o'er-arching groves,?By waking visions led, th' enthusiast roves;?Like summer suns, by showery clouds conceal'd,?With sudden blaze the goddess shines reveal'd:?Behold, she cries, in thy distinguished cause?I challenge Jove's inexorable laws!?With life-stol'n essence let th' awaken'd stone?A super-human generation own.?Defrauded nature shall admire the deed,?And time recoil at thy immortal meed.
Impregn'd with action, and convoked to breathe,?Sighs the still form his ardent hands beneath;?Electric lustres flash from either eve,?O'er its pale cheeks suffusive flushes fly,?And glossy damps its clust'ring curls adorn,?Like dew-drops bright'ning on the brows of morn.?Through nerves that vibrate in unfolding chains,?Foams the warm life-blood, excavating veins;?'Till all infused, and organized the whole,?The finish'd fabric hails the breathing soul!?Then waked tumultuous in th' alarmed breast,?Contending passions claim th' etherial guest;?And still, as each alternate empire proves,?She hopes, she