English

THE POET INVOKES THE SPIRITS OF THE ELEMENTS TO APPROACH DELIA. — HE DESCRIBES HER SINGING .

Y E Sylphs , who banquet on my Delia's blush,
Who on her locks of FLOATING GOLD repose,
Dip in her cheek your GOSSAMERY BRUSH ,
And with its bloom of beauty tinge THE ROSE .

Hover around her lips on rainbow wing ,
Load from her honey'd breath your viewless feet,
Bear thence a richer fragrance for the Spring,

THE POET RELATES HOW HE OBTAINED DELIA'S POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF .

'T is mine! what accents can my joy declare?
Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout!
Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair,
That left the tempting corner hanging out!

I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,
After long travel to some distant shrine,
When at the relic of his saint he kneels,
For Delia's POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF IS MINE .

When first with filching fingers I drew near,
Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein

THE POET EXPRESSES HIS FEELINGS RESPECTING A PORTRAIT IN DELIA'S PARLOR .

I WOULD I were that portly Gentleman
With gold-laced hat and golden-headed cane,
Who hangs in Delia's parlor! For whene'er
From book or needlework her looks arise,
On him converge the SUN-BEAMS of her eyes ,
And he unblamed may gaze upon MY FAIR ,
And oft MY FAIR his favor'd form surveys.
O HAPPY PICTURE ! still on HER to gaze;
I envy him! and jealous fear alarms,
Lest the STRONG glance of those divinest charms

HE PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF A SOUL FROM HIS LOVE FOR DELIA .

Some have denied a soul! THEY NEVER LOVED .
Far from my Delia now by fate removed,
At home, abroad, I viewed her every where;
Her ONLY in the FLOOD OF NOON I see,
My Goadess Maid , my OMNIPRESENT FAIR ,
For LOVE annihilates the world to me!
And when the weary S OL around his bed
Closes the SABLE CURTAINS of the night ,
S UN OF MY SLUMBERS , on my dazzled sight
S HE shines confest. When every sound is dead ,
The SPIRIT OF HER VOICE comes then to roll

TO A PAINTER ATTEMPTING DELIA'S PORTRAIT .

Rash Painter! canst thou give the ORB OF DAY
In all its noontide glory? or portray
The DIAMOND , that athwart the taper'd hall
Flings the rich flashes of its dazzling light?
Even if thine art could boast such magic might ,
Yet if it strove to paint my Angel's EYE ,
Here it perforce must fail. Cease! lest I call
Heaven's vengeance on thy sin . Must thou be told
The CRIME it is to paint DIVINITY ?
Rash Painter! should the world her charms behold,

DELIA AT PLAY .

She held a Cup and Ball of ivory white,
Less white the ivory than her snowy hand!
Enrapt, I watch'd her from my secret stand,
As now, intent, in innocent delight,
Her taper fingers twirl'd the giddy ball,
Now tost it, following still with EAGLE sight ,
Now on the pointed end infix'd its fall.
Marking her sport I mused, and musing sigh'd.
Methought the BALL she play'd with was my HEART ;
(Alas! that sport like that should be her pride!)
And the keen point which steadfast still she eyed

THE storm hath ceased; but still the lava-lake
Roll down the mountain-side in streams of fire
Down to the lake they roll, and yet roll on,
All burning, through the waters. Heaven above
Glows round the burning mount, and fiery
Scour through the black and starless firmament
Far off, the Eagle, in her mountain-nest,
Lies watching in alarm, with steady eye,
The midnight radiance.
But the storm hath cease
The earth is still; — and lo! while yet the day
Is struggling through the eastern cloud, the barks
Of Madoc on the lake!

There was mourning in Patamba; the north wind
Blew o'er the lake, and drifted to the shore
The floating wreck and bodies of the dead.
Then on the shore the mother might be seen
Seeking her child; the father to the tomb,
With limbs too weak for that unhappy weight,
Bearing the bloated body of his son;
The wife, who, in expectant agony,
Watch'd the black carcass on the coming wave.

On every brow terror was legible,
Anguish in every eye. There was not one
Who, in the general ruin, did not share

The mariners, meantime, at Ririd's will,
Unreeve the rigging, and the masts they strike
And now ashore they haul the lighten'd hulks,
Tear up the deck, the severed planks bear off,
Disjoin the well-scarfed timbers, and the keel
Loosen asunder; then to the lake-side
Bear the materials, where the Ocean Lord
Himself directs their work. Twelve vessels there
Fitted alike to catch the wind, or sweep
With oars the moveless surface, they prepare;
Lay down the keel, the stern-post rear, and fix

Hark ! from the towers of Aztlan how the shouts
Of clamorous joy re-ring! the rocks and hills
Take up the joyful sound, and o'er the lake
Roll their slow echoes. — Thou art beautiful,
Queen of the Valley! thou art beautiful!
Thy walls, like silver, sparkle to the sun;
Melodious wave thy groves; thy garden-sweets
Enrich the pleasant air; upon the lake
Lie the long shadows of thy towers; and high
In heaven thy temple-pyramids arise,
Upon whose summit now, far visible
Against the clear blue sky, the Cross of Christ