AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER.
Written on a blank leaf of his Epistles.
IS this the consul whose electric look,
And vocal thunder, the wide senate shook;
Flash'd from that tearful eye the flame divine
That rent the stubborn soul of Catiline?
Ah! could those silent, trembling lips, impart
Conviction, Clodius, to thy guilty heart?
Or Antony, of half the world possest,
Feel their sweet venom rankling in his breast?
'Tis be; but ah, how chang'd! The laureat bow'r
No more relieves his solitary hour;
Philosophy, with ardent eye, no more
Drops on his bosom'd wound her balmy lore;
Bland Tusculum itself can now bestow
No shaded shelter from resistless woe.
His Tullia's name the murm'ring echoes breathe;
In every breeze is heard the wail of death;
And, wringing sore his desolated hands,
The poor, forlorn, dejected father stands ;
Whose plaint not rolling ages can consume,
Superior to the wreck of boastful Rome.
FLY, airy envoy of delight,
To my Anthemoë's pillow fly;
Press her pure forehead's veiny white,
Or flutter in her closing eye.
Oh! softly wave thy downy wing,
Lest thou too rudely break her rest;
Thy opiate dews, oh! gently fling,
For Peace resides within her breast.
And shouldst thou deign to hear my pray'r, A lover's pray'r devoutly warm,
Bid the pale shadow of Despair
Each night assume my faded form.
With visionary pencil paint
The downcast look of hopeless woe;
Drooping, disconsolately faint,
O'er murder'd hope's expiring glow.
Fix oh my cheeks th' eternal tear,
And banish far each soothing smile;
Let that dull blank no dimple wear,
Unceasing anguish to beguile.
Like the sere leaf on Autumn's brow,
Let thy dark tint embrown thy face;
My furrow'd front let sickness plough,
And crush each bloom of youthful grace.
So shall thy powerful spell pourtray
The secret torture of my mind;
And sorrow only seen by day,
Still in thy shape remain behind.
OMNIA quæ miseras possunt finire querelas,
In promptu voluit candidus esse Deus :
Vile olus, et duris hærentia mora rubetis,
Pugnantis stomachi composuere famem.
Flumine vicino stultus sitit ; et riget Euro,
Cum calidus tepido consonat igne rogus.
Lex armata sedet circum fera limina nuptæ,
Nil metuit licito fusa puella toro.
Quod satiare potest, dives natura ministrat;
Quod docet infrænis gloria, fine caret.
WHAT Nature needs, would wretched man be wise,
Nature herself commodiously supplies.
The vilest herb keen hunger will not scorn,
Nor slight the berry blushing on the thorn.
Lo! he complains of thirst with fainting sigh,
Though elemental nectar murmurs nigh;
Or shivers in the biting northern wind,
Though a whole crackling forest flames behind.
Perpetual horrors haunt his jealous head,
Yet willing beauties wooe him to their bed.
Abundant nature hears the frugal call,
But wild ambition is in want of all.
SHAME on the sullen soul that for one fault,
One tender fault, will slight the taintless mind!
Still, Zelia, thou'rt a vestal in thy thought;
And Love, as he is pictur'd, should be blind.
Then wipe, my dear, those dewy eyes of thine,
That, like a dying dove's, are turn'd on me :
Mine was the rapture; all the sin be mine,
If thou from sorrow and from sin art free.
Though cruel custom mar the wanderer's rest,
And thy sweet beauty ill such scorn can bear,
Love, gentlest monitor, unlocks this breast,
And fondly welcomes his old mistress there.
Let malice rail, let scandal be thy foe:
But sure that heav'n which drest thee in delight,
Will spare its erring masterpiece; for know,
Hadst thou no stain thou wert an angel quite.
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