Amatory Odes: Ode III

ate gave with unrelenting speed to fly The genial hours that Love and Lesbia bless'd; Sad, on her ear I pour'd the parting sigh, Sad, on her hand the parting kiss impress'd.

Nor Lesbia, generous maid, her hand withdrew, Nor did her ear disdain the parting sigh; Swift to her check the living crimson flew, Soft pity fill'd her breast and sympathy.

There all the gentle Charities reside With liberal Sentiment and chaste Desire, And banish cold Reserve and ruthless Pride, That bid Affection's trembling flame expire.

"Farewell the Bard,"—she cried—"whose grateful Muse "Bade many a vocal shade my name resound: "And, rich in Fancy's visionary hues, "With many a fairy wreath my tresses bound:

"Still on those artless wreaths shall Lesbia smile, "Still shall her partial voice applaud thy lay, "Bid unexpected joy thy cares beguile, "And Hope's pure radiance gild each rising day."—

Ah! far from Love, from Lesbia, doom'd to fly, Cheerless and sad I trace life's gloomy scene, And saintly Hope's far distant ray descry, While clouds and darkness fill the void between!

The seaman thus the Beacon's friendly fires Dejected views, while the black billows swell, And from the haven that his soul desires Remorseless winds his labouring bark repel.

What lenitive can ease the bosom's pain, What charm the fever of the mind remove? Can Solitude, can Silence, break the chain That's forg'd by friendship, sympathy, and love?

Then let me shun the Day-star's glittering beam And seek in solitary glens repose: O'er the rush'd margin of some lingering stream, Where the broad oak his grateful umbrage throws.

Or thro' some Cloyster's dim recesses rove, O'er hollow sounding vaults and cells of death; To all the soft anxieties of love Insensible as those that sleep beneath.

Delusive hope!—Say, where the solitude That to intrusive Love access denies? Say, where the hallow'd haunt whose glooms exclude Lesbia's enchanting form from Fancy's eyes?—

Then bid the flood that swells the wanton vine O'erflow the lucid vase with roses crown'd; Prepare the feast—and let the God of wine Bathe with his purple balm my amorous wound!

Let the ripe cluster's animating tide Pervade with genial flow my languid frame, Till Passion's sad solicitudes subside, Till fades, all pow'rful Love, thy fatal flame.

Ah! midst the Sons of Revelry in vain Thy captive, Lesbia, struggles to be free! God of the grape, thy goblets while I drain, Still sways my breast Love's mightier Deity!—

Let Harmony from her enchanting shell Pour the sweet Note that sooths affliction's sigh: Now the full chord's deep modulation swell, Now wake the joy-inspiring symphony;

Such as resounding from thy golden strings, Divine Alcæus, charm'd Hell's shadowy throng; While combatants renown'd and vanquish'd kings Fir'd the bold strains of thine immortal song.g

Say, could the voice of melody subdue The pangs that tortur'd Ghosts were doom'd to bear, And lull to strange repose the Serpent-crew That hiss, Alecto, in thine iron hair?

Then let the cares that rend a Lover's breast The magic of that voice resistless prove.— Still breathes th' enamour'd Bard his fond request In vain—for Music is the food of Love.

In each wild song that wakes the vale around My Fair-one's fascinating voice I hear; And Fancy bids the soft lute's silver sound Waft her mild accents to my ravish'd ear.

Sweet the wild song that wakes the valley,—Sweet Warbles the soft lute's melancholy note: But with richer melody replete From Lesbia's lips on gales of fragrance float.—

Not Music, Wine, nor Solitude, can quell The tumults that this bleeding bosom knows. Then visit, God of Sleep, my pensive cell, And to my soul restore its lost repose!

Auspicious to my pray'r the gloomy God Bids the deep shadows of the Night arise; O'er my lone couch extends his sable rod, And seals with opiate charm his suppliant's eyes.

Ah! whence That Virgin Bloom, on night's dun pall Whose glance with pity's mild effulgence beams? Fair Sov'reign of my soul, at Fancy's call, 'Tis Lesbia comes to bless her Poet's dreams!

(Dazzling the Phrygian Boy's enraptur'd sight Not Venus 'self with charms that rivall'd thine, 'Mid the broad shades of Ida's piny height To beauty's meed preferr'd her claim divine!)

She beckons me thro' Fairy glades to stray, O'er sands of gold where liquid chrystal roves; Where drinks unclouded Summer's genial ray Incense exhal'd from aromatic Groves:

Where, o'er each shadowy dell and oak-crown'd steep, Celestial forms in bright succession glide; Where light-train'd Nymphs th' unbending blossoms sweep, Or rise in radiance from the tranquil tide:

Where, Lesbia, as I raise the song to Thee, The list'ning Fauns their antic dance refrain, And dulcet sounds of airy minstrelsy From harps unseen accompany the strain.

And while th' impassion'd lay thy praises breathes Each ruder gale subsides, th' expanding flow'rs More lavish sweets dispense, and living wreaths Of brighter green array the magic bow'rs.

And Love, light hovering in the balmy air, Fires his proud torch and nerves his golden bow, And braids his roseate bands for Thee, my Fair, And bids thy breast his gentlest transports know.

Thine eyes confess his pow'r:—Stay waining Night! Start not, Hyperion, from thine orient goal! Ye blisful dreams, ye visions of delight, Ye dear delusions, still possess my soul!

Dissolving at th' unwelcome gleam of dawn, The Spell that sway'd my captive sense expires.— No liquid chrystal laves the fairy lawn; No viewless Minstrels wake celestial lyres;

No spicy groves unfading foliage spread; Beneath their nectarine freight no branches bend; No Sylvan bands fantastic measures tread; No pearl-crown'd Sisters from the wave ascend.

The laughing meads where flow'rs spontaneous grew, The landscape's various grace, the genial skies, In cloudless azure dress'd, elude my view; And glowing Fancy's fair creation dies.

But thou, blest Object of my hopes and fears, Still shall the Muse's living meed be thine, While Grace enchants, while Gentleness endears, While admiration bends at Beauty's shrine:

Deep grav'n by Love thine image ne'er shall fade While Memory in my breast maintains her seat; And when for Thee it beats not, Lovely Maid! Each trembling pulse of life shall cease to beat.