ALONZO was no common man, for few
Like him, the art of pleasing others knew.
Nature on him had kindly lavish'd all
Those gifts that please alike in bower or hall!
His soul was bounteous, in his eyes shone forth
A spirit that express'd his inward worth:
His honour as the sun itself was bright,
Though transient mists might intercept its light:
Ambition (his a virtue) often turn'd
His mind to deeds for which his spirit burn'd:
Then would he knit on vacancy his brow,
Till e'en with thought exprest it seem'd to glow:
Then dreams of greatness rush'd upon his brain--
In better times, those dreams had not been vain!
Long had Hispania been misruled by those
Who glut their little minds with others' woes;
Their sole delight to trample on their kind,
As serpents taint the fairest things they find;
Danger had scowl'd on all who dared to break
The bonds of silence for the people's sake.
To speak of freedom-'twas indeed to brave
The prison's durance, to forestal the grave!
Alonzo knew it; oft he wish'd to try
The chance of war-to conquer or to die.
The cause was hopeless, and to bleed alone
Had more of rashness than of virtue shown,
Since Chivalry, the nation's queen of yore,
Roused in her sons life's energies no more :—
But thus compell'd to bear within his soul
Feelings that often strove to break control-
To stifle in his breast the will to dare-
Nay, more, to find his talents buried there,
By public virtue ne'er call'd forth to shine
Of honest counsels an exhaustless mine!
Oh, that were misery! Besides, to wait
In seeming lowliness on slaves of state;
Or else, the game of spies, to fret away,
In restless fear, day lingering after day;
These evils all so smote upon his heart,
He could not bear them; no, he must depart;
Quit in disguise his land, his native Spain,
To seek some foster-country o'er the main !
ABSENT POET TO HIS MISTRESS.
Stay! my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me ;
Well you know how much you grieve me.
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?-BURNS.
DOOM'D thus to worship thee in vain,
I useless mourn my rigid lot;
Yet happier in this secret pain
Than if thy beauty was forgot.
The sigh to memory gives a force,
That brings before me all thy charms;
Of grief and joy alike the source,
Of rapture, or of fond alarms.
for often will the smile
Chase the sad shades of thought away,
That darken o'er the brows awhile,
As clouds o'er-cast an April day-
The smile re-animates my heart;
Remembrance gives its welcome aid : Then mine, and mine alone, thou art; But soon the phantom-pleasures fade!
The smile is filed-the sudden beam
That o'er the past so brightly shone,
Now fades away; the fainter gleam
Of promised happiness is gone.
Oh! would Futurity unveil
What must be, to my mental eye; My spirit then might cease to quail, When hopes and fears for ever die.
Again to meet thee; then to love
With all the zest surprise can bring ; Again to find my absent dove,
Again to hear my syren sing
This will I hope; yet, self-deceiving,
Like younglings laughing o'er the bowl,
That pleasure is their friend believing—
Thus hope intoxicates the soul.
Still is thy dear resemblance mine :
How mild, how eloquent that look!
Those eyes like twin-stars seem to shine :
I yet possess thee-though forsook ;
Forsook by her who loved me more,
As once I thought than words can tell ; In Spenser's verse we learn'd love's lore, And thou wert then my Florimel.
This cheat of fancy long beguiled
Our winter nights, our summer days ;
And Spenser's gentle spirit smiled
To hear two lovers hymn his praise.
And then Cleopolis on earth
Inimitable, oft we sought;
And oft applauded valour's worth,
As knights with savage giants fought :
Enough of this; my care-worn mind
Less happy thoughts must now engage! Mine own dear love I cannot find; Can fabled loves my grief assuage?
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