English

(“J'aime le carillon dans tes cités antiques.”)

Within thy cities of the olden time
Dearly I love to list the ringing chime,
Thou faithful guardian of domestic worth,
Noble old Flanders! where the rigid North
A flush of rich meridian glow doth feel,
Caught from reflected suns of bright Castile.
The chime, the clinking chime! To Fancy's eye—
Prompt her affections to personify—
It is the fresh and frolic hour, arrayed
In guise of Andalusian dancing maid,
Appealing by a crevice fine and rare,

Beyond all titles, dignity, and birth,
Oh, lovely Princess! shines thy native worth!
Thy noble Consort, whom the world admires,
Enjoys each deed thy charity inspires;
For Christian Virtue, with refulgent ray,
Gleams, with benignant lustre, o'er thy way!—
Had Heav'n assign'd thee far an humbler lot,
Still had it sparkled in the lowly cot:
But more it kindles from the mountain's height,
And spreads with nobler pow'rs its radiant light!

White bud, that in meek beauty so dost lean
Thy cloister'd cheek as pale as moonlight snow,
Thou seem'st beneath thy huge, high leaf of green,
An Eremite beneath his mountain's brow.

White bud! thou 'rt emblem of a lovelier thing,
The broken spirit that its anguish bears
To silent shades, and there sits offering
To Heaven the holy fragrance of its tears.

Whylom in Kent there dwelt a clerke
Who wyth grete cheer and litil werke
Upswalen was with venere:
For meagre Lent ne recked he,
Ne saincts daies had in remembraunce,
Mo will had he to dalliaunce.
To serchen out a bellamie
He had a sharp and licorous eie;
But it wold bett abide a leke
Or onion than the sight of Greke;
Wherefore God yeve him shame; Boccace
Serv'd him for Basil and Ignace.
His vermeil cheke, that shon wyth mirth,
Spake him the blithest priest on yearth:
At chyrch, to shew his lillied hond,

Sure all Creation seems to join,
And speak the Season is Divine!
" The spangled Heavens — a shining frame —
" Their Great Original proclaim! "
The glitt'ring stars illume the earth,
Once honour'd with a Saviour'S Birth.
Resplendent, awful, and serene,
Majestic Order decks the scene;
And almost may the list'ning ear,
The tuneful harps of Seraphs hear! —
Oh, Harmony! thy note is Love!
And sure thy triumph was Above,
When from the azure Courts of Heav'n,
A Saviour to Mankind was given!

A TALE .

Have you not seen (to state the case)
Two wasps lie struggling in a glass?
By the rich flavour of Tokay
Allur'd, about the brim they play;
They light, they murmur, then begin
To lick, and so at length slip in:
Embracing close the couple lies,
Together dip, together rise;
You'd swear they love, and yet they strive
Which shall be sunk, and which survive.
Such seign'd amours and real hate
Attend the matrimonial state,

Bright eyes! twin stars that rule my wayward fate,
Ye beauteous ministers of all my woe;
Bright eyes! in some kind warning glance relate
If death or life from your decree shall flow:
Oh quick, the cruel mercy then dispense,
Despair is bliss to lingering suspense!

WHO PERISHED IN AN APARTMENT WHERE HE CAME FOR SHELTER .

Sweet, gentle Bird! whose shiv'ring breast,
 When dreary snows had chill'd the plain,
To Pity came, a gentle guest!
 Nor ask'd a shelter there in vain.

Sweet bird! whose soft endearing pow'r,
 By Gratitude more pleasing grew!
'Twas thine to charm the weary hour,
 And cheer thy benefactor too;

To sooth him with thy warbling lay,
 With playful tricks his smile to win,
And frowning Care flew far away,
 When gentle Robin once came in!

I.

What art thou, Life! whose stay we court?
What is thy rival Death, we fear?
Since we're but fickle Fortune's sport,
Why should we wish t'inhabit here,
And think the race we find so rough too short?

II.

While in the womb we forming lie,
While yet the lamp of life displays
A doubtful dawn with feeble rays,
New issuing from Non-entity,
The shell of flesh pollutes with sin
Its gem, the soul, just enter'd in,
And, by transmitted vice defil'd,
The fiend commences with the child.

III.

I.

There is a sweet and solemn hour,
And calmly soothing is its power,
To smile away grief's gloomy low'r,
'tis then I rove;
It follows last the revel train,
That frolics round Time's rapid wain,
this hour I love!

II.

Then western clouds but faintly blush,
And sad, yet sweetly sings the thrush,
The faint breeze bends the stream-lov'd rush;
while many a ray
From the night's silver-hooded queen,
Sipping the ambient wave is seen,
'tis then I stray.