Fix on 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 my 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.
TRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN.
FROM love, and from the flowing bowl, Those dear delights that cheer my soul, I've vow'd full often to abstain;
I've vow'd, but all my vows are vain.
The bowers where black-ey'd houris rove,
Shades in celestial sweets that rise,
Or ev❜n the paradisial grove,
Less than her humble dome I prize.
Angels ne'er feel, old records say,
Of mighty love the blissful sway:
Be love to me, mere mortal, giv'n,
To angels I resign their heav'n.
Still, when I breathe the pious pray'r,
That intervening form I view ;
And turn'd idolater, my fair,
To thee alone I deem it due.
Stint not the grape's nectareous juice,
Nor yet the charms of love refuse:
Too soon will Time his sabre bare,
And Death was never known to spare.
Then tell not me of cloister pale,
Or college where dull pedants pine;
Gladlier the tavern-door I hail,
Where brighter smiles the rosy wine.
Soft Zephyr, whisper, as you pass
The window where she's wont to be:
"Sober, or o'er the sparkling glass,
Hafiz still fondly thinks on thee."
MENTITUR qui te vitiosum, Zoile, dixit.
Non vitiosus homo es, Zoile, sed vitium.
HE lied who call'd thee, Ned, a vicious elf:
Thou art not vicious-thou art vice itself.
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