i m^'. .*5 ^# -^^ :> > LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. i|iqi iiJ^ng]^ ^fti sheif*...c:^.y 5^^^:> UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ->. -"" Z>:3X> rx:> r£> J^^* ::2>:^2> :i>:>^s> : ■J>.:J' :^^3 2> :^J5^5> £>> . _>5 2> :>:5 2> » - j:» £> :3'^ :2> >;:«■, .^-> j:> :x> 2> c^^ x> :x>^3> £>:> ■ :;£>::> 5:> 3> "S* -I>-^ ,2> - 3">J> > - 2> :> -y> :>>:>5^ > !>:> ->> :»^i> > _:>3 :>> :..^-v2> ::> ai> 3 ^:> :5 ^rj* ^^ IP ^> 1> :» >^ . ~»J> :3f>j> . ,?5 5^i ^s^ -^^^ jx> Dr> \ - >:> ^ ^£> >■ >:> > JO' ;. >> ^ >^ > '^^ >:> -^? -*^ >.5 ■ ^^^^^ > 3 1> 2X> 00» ■> J>vj>. JX3 3> T>^ '"9 _> ">.5* >» ::> 'X _. _ / Sir Ciipici and of her Poems By E. YANCE V COHEN. # SIR CUPID OTHER POEMS. BY ANCEY COHEN .1 V iP DEC 10 CAMBRIDGE, MASS. : MOSES KING, PUBLISHER, Harvard Square. COPYRIGHT, Bv E. YANCEY COHEN. THE BRADSTREET PRESS, 279, 281, 283 Broadway, New York. CONTENTS. SIR CUPID AND OTHER POEMS. Sir Cupid 7 Fantasie 12 TiNTERN Abbey I4 In Shushan i6 Evening on Lake Maggiore 20 Eos 22 Fate 23 Jephthah's Daughter 25 The Voyage of Life 27 A Roman Triumph 29 The Opoponax -31 Nocturne 32 In Memoriam 34 In Westminster 36 An Ancient Landscape 37 On the Receipt of a Volume of Poems ■ • • 39 The Chase 40 4 CONTENTS. A Sigh 42 The Mitre Tavern 43 On the Demolition of Jaruin Mabille ... 46 Behind a Portiere 48 Lines for an Album 50 In Bond Street 52 An Old Gentleman 54 To A Lady, with a Vinaigrette 56 On a Biscuit 59 Old Times 60 Our Waiters in Memorial 62 Genus Poetarum 64 A Lady in Cambridge 65 At the Opera 67 SONNETS. Sir Moses Montefiore 71 To AN Island 72 A Reverie 74 Miss Gratz 75 Eduard Lasker 77 On a German Sentence 78 TRANSLATIONS. Madrigal 81 In Exile 82 The Dolphin 85 The Skater 88 Boyhood 90 The Inconveniences of Fortune 92 SIR CUPID OTHER POEMS. SIR CUPID. SIR CUPID is the doughtiest knight Of legend or romance ; No mortal heart but knows the smart Of his light-driven lance. Puissant in fair lady's bower As in the lists, I trow, His burning sighs and dangerous eyes Lay many a maiden low. Mysterious 'mongst all throngs of men He comes, arm'd cap-a-pie, A form so fair it well might wear An angel's panoply ; Yet, visor down, no king may view His princely, beauteous face, 5/i? CUPID. Except it be a courtesy That floweth of his grace. Sir Cupid of all errant knights Is through the world best known ; The peasant lass doth mark him pass, The queen smiles from her throne ; Thou'rt welcome in the woodman's hut Or castle grand, Sir Knight, — Where'er it be there's heraldry To prove thy lineage bright. Men say no natal land may claim This wanderer of the earth ; Some secret fell, some mystic spell, Doth hover round his birth — The haunted depths of magic woods, With elves in moonlit dance. And all the haze and tangl'd maze Of golden-gay romance. His armor is with jewels pied. And pflanceth swift and bright .S7A' CUPID. As a f^littcrini;- net of flowerets wet With clew in the mornint^ ''i^lit. His spurs of gold clink merrily, Like chords on a minstrel's lyre, As with diamond shield he ritles afield With Pleasure for his squire I 'Tis said in Andalusia's groves And in that southern land Where the love-lorn sea of Sicily Kisses a golden strand, 'Tis said, at nightfall maidens hear His pleasant roundelay, As with their breast in strange unrest They wend their dream\' wa\'. He sings a song so sweet, so sweet. It should the sirens' be That lur'd in \'ain the blameless men Upon that magic sea, — So sweet a song Love sings but once. But once and swift 'tis fled ; lO ■ S/J? CUPID. But I will swear no maiden's ear Doth spurn the words he said ! A mighty wizard, he doth stir The embers of the heart, And hapless bans and talismans His incantations start; No necromancer wilder spells E'er conjured up than he, — Hearts leaden cold turn trembling gold In his bright alchemy. Far in the mighty frozen north. Amid the maelstrom's roars, No viking's name a hardier fame Hath won along those shores; Ho, wassail to the stranger knight ! Let him rich honor'd be. For he hath brought a kindlier thought From out the southern sea. So ever through the world awa}' Sir Cupid, mail'd in light, S/A' CUPID. I I With starry crest ritlcs cast and west Upon his journex' bright. God speed you on \-our \\a\-, Sir Kni<^ht ! Our hearts so warm and true Shall hold no friend till life have end More close and dear than you ! FANTASIE. I KNOW a maiden, and her e}'es Are sweet and open as our day ; Their hgdit is as the tender skies That deck the violet May. As cloudlets o'er the sparkling" main Dash airily in sunset's glow, She boundeth o'er the glistening" plain, Our sky-sent I'Allegro. She Cometh with the western wind, Light-laden with a dewy freight Of gladness, and her crystal mind Doth o-uide our eaeer State. FANTASIE. 13 () lau^iiiiiL;-, radiant maid, our hearts, WHiich slumber as the silent lyre, Thou strikest with a power that starts An olden x'ibrant fire! Bright, youthful (icnius of our land, Fair, g"a\', impulsive, artless, free. Thou trippest o'er a golden sand, And we will follow thee ! TINTERN ABBEY. I. IN ruin'd beaut}' ancient Tintern stands, With pitying- cloak of ivy overgrown ; God's worship still the grand old house commands, Silent and brooding, aged and o'erthrown. Forever gone its olden monkish life. Where pass'd the jocund song and easy tale. With just enough of prayer and churchly strife To keep in vision fair the Holy Grail. J- No chants now echo down those grassy aisles, For aye is hush'd the deep Gregorian hymn ; No more the Virgin casts her hallow'd smiles Mid the bright glory of the cherubim. TIXTF.RN ABBEY. 15 4- Adowii the valley crisps the svKmii Wye, ATerriU^ tumbliiiij;', chatteriiii^ 'ilong, — O hark ! a new-born, i;iadsome minstrels}- Drops earthward with the skylark's morning song ! IN SHUSHAN. r. O'ER lordly Shushan's terrac'd walls The starry cloak of midniL^ht falls, And nought doth break the solemn spell Save the soft note of Philomel, Or some faint fountain's silver}' tongue Lulling the gardens with its song. The yellow moon doth rule the sky And gild the dark-blue dome on high, And o'er the marble stairways cold A robe of tissue, woof 'd with gold, Doth seem to cling, a garment rare Enmantling shoulders lustrous fair ! The King doth wassail hold to-night — For him the hours have pinions light ; A\- SHUSHAN. 17 The gladding- boiint}' of the vine He pledges in the ruddy wine, > And rears his dripping goblet high To Love and h^-iendship's unit}'. His arm encirchng Hanian's neck, He views with nian\' a nod and heck O'er purple rugs the dancers fly In maz\' rounds of revelry. Then sweetest minstrels tune their song. And the gold lamps with faltering ray^ In lox'clicr \isions fade away, As blessed legends float along Of gods and heroes who began The wars of Darkness and of Light, Of dew-ey'd Morn and sullen Night, Of Ormuzd fair and Ahriman. 3- A distant palace casement b)- Queen Esther pauses wearily, And gazxs toward the shadowy fields C)f silent orbs, where clustering shields I 8 IN SHUSH AN. (ilcam faint, — Heaven's warriors' loosen'd mail Viy camp-fires glintinc;" far and pale. Sweetly the rose-tinct night-wind sues To know her secret, as it woos With kisses passion-warm and quick The languish'd lilies of her cheek. Ah, many fair flowers on earth there be, l^ut never a flower so fair as she ! And thus uj^on the midnight air Wing'd skyward goes her hallow'd prayer: " Sweet Lord of Heaven! who aye hast shown Thy people grace, and from tin- throne, luicircl'd with angelic throngs, Hast heard their prayers and heal'd their wrongs. Great God of Israel's love and mine, When on the morrow, 'fore the King, I dare my people's suit to bring. Touch thou my lips with power divine; O make my presence balmy-sweet. That from his purpl'd, royal seat. The Kin<>' shall smile and in his e^race IX SHUSHAN. 19 Undo the sorrows of my nice. Grant. Lord! that hkc yon moon SL'rcnc That sits unthron'd twixt earth and sky. And 'neath her sapphire canop\' Doth cheer the ni-lit, a blessed ciueen. I too ma)- be twixt those who haste To bring m\' [)eople to the chist And Thee, sweet Heaven, w ith all thy host. A 0'-'<-'^'i^ ^^^ bright and calm and chaste, As peerless, star-sonl'd and as trne. As yon fair jonrneycr in the waste Of the deep-bosom'd, endless bhic !" EVENINCx ON LAKE MAGGIORE. GAILY the fisher rows his boat To his Httle fisher- isle ; His wife stands waitini;' by the shore, His children on him smile; Soon, with a flask of honest wine And a dish of macaro, What care he if the world be wide Or his cottage door be low ! h'our fairy isles in the sunset burn Like jewels sparkling bright, Nestle a dozen hamlets low And trim their evening light ; O'er purple hillsides wet with wine Dark shades majestic glide, EVENING ON LAKE MAGGIORE. 21 Aiul a solemn licaviiiL;' wells aiul throbs In the soft Italian tide. Hark ! faintl}' o'er the stilK' lake The e\'enini;' bell comes rini;"inL(, And I'^ancy lists to catch afar Sweet nuns at \-espers singinL!;; At eventiilc a m\-stic \eil Drops from the pensi\e heaven, As if a benediction fell O'er all the earth at e\'en. The Alpine mountains, dim and far, Have faded from the view, And holy Night trails o'er the hills Her mantle dank with <\c\\. O balmy gales! glide soft awa)% Haste ye my love to seek, And whisper fancies in her ear i\\\i\ kiss her damask cheek ! EOS. LO, where the citadel of Night ^ Is scal'd by ladders of the dawn ! The flushing standard of the morn, Advanc'd amid the speary light, With orient waving flaunts the sky, Proclaiming conquest, and young Day, Fair on the ramparts, far away Watches the shadows flee and die. FATE. TI M E was \\•hcn,^\■ant()ninL,^ o'er the bnnn\- downs, Sweet Ma(l the heights of Veii in a cloak of won- drous gold, — B\- Juno ! such a gorgeous sight one doesn't oft behold ! 38 AN ANCIENT LANDSCAPE. Ill his low Etruscan cottage, by the homely, open door, With his children sporting" round him and prancing o'er the floor, His baby girl caressing as she calmly, lightly sleeps, i\nd patting now his trust}' dog. that faithful vigil keeps, Agricola. the farmer, resting, quaffs the evening" air, And prays the gods to bless a scene so trancjuil and so fair. ON THE RECEIPT OF A VOLUME OF POEMS FROM A FRIEND. RICH-FRl'.KiHTI'J) book! thou-h vellum white J^e not th)- i;arb. nor edi^'d th}- leax'es with i;okl, Ihou'i't yet a treasure in ni)' si_<^ht \\'hich jealousl}- and dearl}- will I hold, Yea, clasp thee close and hold thee tight, As cowled cliurchmen do their missals dim and old. Illumin'd art thou in mine eyes l^e}"ond tin- world of all-bright poes}', A softer, tenderer meaning lies In th\- fair songs and love-lorn minstrelsy, Now that I feel a glad surmise That I a heart have won, unwortln- though I be. THE CHASE. OFOR the Autumn fresh and fair. The motley hills and scented air, The dappled morn, the sparkling night — This is the season of delight ! Hark to the bugle ! through the clear, The bright and eager atmosphere, Dances the distant mingl'd sound Of echoing shout and ba}'ing hound ! The headlong hunt, the maddening chase, This is the sport of noblest race, The old gods gave it birth — They lov'd to list the valleys ringing Wild with the jangling mirth. THE CHASE. And spy the airy roebucks springing Like fountains from the earth ! O when he sounds the merry horn Through the gkid hills at break of morn The huntsman bold, Or )'oung or old, Doth laugh all other sports to scorn ! 41 A SIGH. A GARDEN in the balmy South, A maid with tresses hke the night, She plucks a floweret dipp'd in light And folds it to her winsome mouth. Me envious ! that I too were kisst ! O bid me, sweetheart, hie to thee, I'll brave or land or furious sea To keep with thee thy garden tryst ! THE MITRE TAVERN. THE Mitre lies in Oxford town Within the spacious, famous High, An inn of infinite renown, An age-worn hostehy. 2. Beneath its portal arch'd and low Slow-surging Time hath ebb'd and flow'd, And left grave proofs of long ago Upon his stony road. 3- Yon flags have echoed with the sound Of loyal odes and song by night, As each gay race hath drank its round And troll'd its ditties bright. 44 THE MITRE TA VERN. 4- Ye cosy chambers overhead, How many a skimberer have ye wist By friendly roisterers put to bed, By reehng Bacchus kisst ? 5- The while that heroes in the glow Of blushful youth and burning love Have staid to pledge their joys below. Nor seek a bliss above ! 6. What lines of ancient waiters chops, Hot, juicy steaks and dripping tarts Have brought, as ruddy as the drops In their own honest hearts ! 7- Soft ! of the Mitre's treasures best, Its most particular bright star. Hath been for ages, 'tis confess'd. The lass behind the bar. THE MITRE TA VERN. 45 8. Her artless smile, how swift its raid ! She is so cruel whilst so merry, Full many a youth hath sworn the maid Embitter'd e'en his sherry. 9- The inns of hLngland are her boast. And man\- a tavern may ye see, — But none, old Mitre, will I toast So oft and deep as thee ! ON THE DEMOLITION OF JARDIN MABILLE. GO sell your berth-right! stay at home! Your dreampt-of pilgrimage to Mecca, Your journey to imperial Rome, O take not now with fond Rebecca ! 2. What now is Europe ? stay at home ! Your life-long hopes are all frustrated — What now to you is dusty Rome ? Or Venice, to the blue waves mated ? 3- For in fair Paris, where you stop Upon your Cook-conducted tour. No longer casual you may drop Into the Jardiii for an hour. JAR DIN MABILLE. 4- That far-fam'd haunt ! what fairy nights, In summer's winsome, warm caresses, Have passed beneath its thousand hghts, Mid all that wonderland expresses ! 5- Such a iiiclaiigc ! brii^ht, gay cocotte, Wide-gaping stranger, dance and revel. Reckless abandon — not a jot Yields Mirth for Sunday, saint or devil ! 6. No more you'll lift to some fair eyes A beaker when the music ceases — You villain ! chasing butterflies ! We Argonauts have learn'd what fleece is. 7- Farewell, Mabille ! malign'd Mabille ! (The clergymen now no more can mock it); So wipe your tears, ni}- friend, — and feel You've got more money in your pocket ! 47 BEHIND A PORTIERE. INOTIC'D Jack at my Lady's ball Handing to Lilian Marivaux A glass of champagne — that was all, Yet her eyes bent sweet and low. Love, like an elf of liglit, Leapt oer the rim so bright, And divd and daslid and sparkTd fine Ln the glass of vierry wine ! 2. What can it mean, that twice the dance Has come and gone, and here they are ? BEHIND A PORTIERE. 49 And her eyes are briL,dit with a loveHcr glance Than ever beani'd from a star ? Love, witJi a splendid leap, Sprang der the foaming deep, And eoursd a dozen venturous, trips O'er her red eheeks and dangenvis lips ! 3- Good lack, thou knowcst the scene full well, Such riddles arc not hard to guess — I pulled ihc portiere as there fell A silvery whisper'd " yes " ! Love, like a zvanton boy, Dane'd, prane'd and sang for joy ; Fd put that ivayzuard imp a rights. He sits up far too late d nights I LINES FOR AN ALBUM. I. OWHAT if a maiden be dower'd with charms, Though praises float by her away, As the warm, idle night-wind, beladen with balms, Makes never a rustle mid Araby's palms And desert-ward steals ere the day. And her smile be like morn, and her blush as the rose, When first the soft wooing of summer it knows. And mysteries dark 'neath her long lashes hide That no youth can fathom, though many have tried? 2. And what if her lips ? — but, by Jove, it is plain My Pegasus I must hold in ! LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 5 i If I give him the spurs, Lord ! to hold liini were vain, He'd go till the very last page he did gain, And backward careering begin ! So, dismounting my fiery animal, I, In plain, simple words, which is best gallantry, My hand on my heart, wish you every good thing That fairy god-mothers to princesses bring ! IN BOND STREET. IN the year '82, a decade or so This side of hoops and chignojis, When we had plac'd Delmonico At last ahead of Bignon's, I found me on the. shady side Of Bond Street, London, in the tide Of those who walk and many who slide, And some who eat champignons. Girls with their locks all cut away Strode by as if deer-stalking; Men, in a constitutional way, Went in for conservative walking ; Yet liberal did their glasses flash On every nice girl fit to "mash" — IN BOND STREET. 53 I say, those fellows are deucedly rash, It was, aw, dear me ! shawking. But I stifled my nice American sense Of discernment twixt rude and proper, And on my thoughts at others' expense I plac'd an immediate stopper ; And I take this occasion to let you know. When planted in England a man will grow, And the ways of America he'll overthrow As he's overthrown in a "cropper." AN OLD GENTLEMAN. OWHAT Is that elixir fine, More potent than old Spanish wine, That doth his cheeks incarnadine ? His hair is of the genial tint Of silver issuing from the mint, (And, like the latter, there's no stint.) Most sage and worldly-wise, forsooth. His talk, commingling jest and truth ; The Nestor he of golden youth ! Of gossip bright and prandial lore He has a most delicious store — He keeps the table on a roar. AN OLD GENTLEMAN. Who can a li\clicr ditty troll Whilst niellowini;" o'er the flowing bowl Than he, O my prophetic soul ? And he has travel'd wide and far, From Murray Hill to Zanzibar ; I think he din'd once with the Czar. His pulses still beat full and high — So good a fellow needn't die ; A health to him and his, quaff I ! 55 TO A LADY, WITH A VINAIGRETTE. I I. N yon deep and salty mine Bound with steep walls crystalline, 2. Puck Goodfellow sometimes dwells. When he works his maddest spells. 3- Here's a story I'll relate — Trust me, nought prevaricate. 4- Madam needed sore salt air And to Newport would repair. TO A LADY, WITH A VINAIGRETTE. 57 5- But her own exclusive set Seaward venturing not as yet, 6. Fancied she'd her evils cure With her salts in miniature. 7- Ah, glad tears her eyelids wet As she snuffs her vinaigrette, 8. And a brimming joy doth rise To her watery, thankful eyes. 9- But sly Puck a vicious blast Of his simoon sent at last. 10. Help ! she's choking, slap her back ! There ! (my goodness, what a whack !) 1 1. Call the doctor, get some keys ! My, what a stupendous sneeze ! 58 TO A LADY, WITH A VINAIGRETTE. 12. Streaming eyes and watery nose, Liquified, great Heaven ! she grows. 13- Gentle friend, I sure would not With my gift include her lot. 14. O, instead of wicked salt Lurking in this prison vault, 15- May you picture Loves astir Borne on wings of gossamer, 16. Atom spirits lithe and bright Delving in its caves of light, 17- Wafting perfumes as they fly Tinct with winds of Araby ! ON A BISCUIT. AVERSE to compose on a frail little biscuit Is a hazardous matter — howev^er, 111 risk it. Imagine me seated at my cscritoir, In double employment of pen and of jaw ; For I eat as I write, and the reason is plain — 'Tis to fortify stomach and animate brain ! O rare little biscuit ! who'll venture to say That a better he'll find in the course of a day ! So light and so delicate, toothsome and brown, Like a nice little maid in a neat russet gown ! But I shudder to think of the terrible fate Awaiting, fore-destin'd, thy frangible weight ! My murderous jaws shall have crunch'd thee to pieces Ere the last halting line of this doggerel ceases. OLD TIMES. COME, hail to the memory of the Dutch, And to St. Nicholas give we praise ! Although we're " English " now so much We'll wine and toast the old Dutch days. Then cheer and friendship met together About the firesides of our aunts. And callers brav'd the wintry weather Encas'd in several pairs of pants. The Battery then was Central Park, A fair retreat on a night serene ; O wide were the boundaries for a lark. From Trinity Church to Bowling Green ! OLD TIMES. 6 1 Britannia rul'd a hundred years This world-renown'd and blessed isle, And then, with ''an rcvoir, my dears," She suddenly left it for awhile. The English are a noble race ! Found in their spacious homes down-town They entcrtain'd with tact and grace, And thus their "teas" had great renown. Our grandsires in their silk and sword Receiv'd our grandams' curtsies low, And whisper'd soft the tender word Just ere they finally rose to go. Ah, quaint old days ! the polish'd floor, The stately minuet, stolen glance, The honest heart, the open door. The oak of England, flower of France ! OUR WAITERS IN MEMORIAL. OYE who poise the steaming bowl And spill the consummated soup, Who pour the milk and pass the roll And stand for pictures in a group, Ye sable Ganymedes, how well Ye wait at our symposia grand. In posture classic, costume swell. Like heavy Graces where ye stand ! At half- past five, then happy me ! The chief throws ope the portal wide ; Upon the instant joyously My nostrils catch the cod-fish fried. OUR WAITERS IN MEMORIAL. 63 But O eternal pie of veal ! O hash ! O rare and quaint beef-stew ! What rash sensations do I feel Each time, each time I meet with you ! Now see where gleams the flashing ring, And mark how shines the well-oil'd hair! Exotic perfumes far outfling Their dull aroma on the air. Some wield the military sword, Some mingle in the mazy dance, Or high they tread the Thespian board To frighten Terror with their glance ! Ye guardians of our dearest wants. Ye ever-faithful ones and true, Fair Harvard fondly, justly vaunts The servitors she has in you ! GENUS POETARUM. YOUNG poets are a dainty set As they indite to-day ; I wonder if their hands they'd wet With touching human clay ? So fine their etchings are, their pens So exquisitely true, It takes a microscopic lens To get a perfect view ! A LADY IN CAMBRIDGE. O SURELY I'm a Croesus grown If, venturous, I may be so bold, To claim that I her friendship own Who's worth her weight in gold. Hail, happy evenings ! when the jest Is lightly toss'd from lip to lip. As richly made and fairly dresst As the smooth ice we sip. Here is a house where every cheer Awaits the hearty-welcom'd guest; Pure peace is his, although I fear The lobster finds small rest ! 66 A LADY IN CAMBRIDGE. The poets say, the rosy bowl, O'erflowing with Olympus' wealth, Held bound the gentler passions' soul. Love, Joy, Afifection, Health. If so, our heart-encircl'd mirth, Its ready joy, its rapture given. Yields just the solace here on earth That heroes found in heaven. AT THE OPERA. O NIGHTINGALE, the rarest, Best songster of our new-born, happy year Thou knowest not a timid mortal's fear, What angels do thou darest. Thou soarest in the skies of joyous song, The heaven of music wingest. And from thy cloud-throat flingest A rain of melody upon the throng ! SONNETS. SIR MOSES MONTEFIORE. SWICI^T, bluc-ey'd Charity, devout and calm, Hath been the dear companion of his days; I low iiath he hearken'd to her prayerful lays, Sad-voic'd and plaintive as an angel's psalm ! She pointed, and he hasten'd where the palm Sighs faintly in the pitiless Syrian rays, Where men sank gasping on the lone highways And cried aloud for succor and for balm. The sick he heal'd, the fallen rais'd he up ; Light track'd his footsteps through the darksome land, — And sav'd, men wept and bless'd him in their tears. Come, friends, lift we on high the loving cup And hail with greetings from our distant strand This hero, crested with his hundred years ! TO AN ISLAND BEAUTIFULLY ADORNED. ART- CROWNED Isle, what dost thou seated there With marble palace and stiff, formal trees. With trim parterres and stately terraces. Where Nature fain had revel'd free and fair! Fie, Art! chaste maid, that thou unsham'd did'st dare To get thee where lurk'd primal mysteries, Where, charm'd to dalliance soft, the love-sick breeze Play'd wantonly with nymphs' dew-tangl'd hair. O senseless exorcist ! at thy dull ban The glade grew silent and the dryads fled ; TO AN ISLAND. The shaggy satyrs and the wild god Pan Went forth in exile from their shady bed, And where delirious wells in rapture ran A mute, cold palace rear'd its carven head. 71> A REVERIE. WHENCE, love-blown Rose, did come thy sensuous power, Outwaving perfume from thy chalice fine, To bathe my soul in clouds of balmy wine. Dull-poisoning like the dreamy lotus flower ? Befell that once within a faery bower I drain'd thy incense till soft Sleep divine In Lethe's waters drench'd my drowsy eyne, — When lo, before me in that heavy hour An angel hover'd, like a vision fair. Her form glow'd dimly in the hazy wreath Of tinctur'd vapor that did load the air ; Ah, like faint spices from the East her breath, And light as wind-kiss'd petals fell her hair. Half-hiding, in its play, calm eyes beneath. MISS GRATZ, OF PHILADELPHIA.* I. NO sweeter fame hath fallen to maiden's lot Than the proud glory which encircles thee — The prototype of that fair soul to be Whose everlasting beauty fadeth not! Methinks it were as if by lakeside spot A tranquil, peerless flower a knight did see, And with a rapt and gallant chivalry Did pluck and press it to his maiden heart ; And, gazing on it, dream of Love and Truth, (Of Love and Truth, ofttimes how sore distraught!) And say, " O beauteous flower! a true knight sueth To hymn thy praise ! for with sweet magic fraught * Irving, who greatly admired Miss Gratz, told Scott of her, and the latter is said to have had his friend's description in his mind when he created the character of " Rebecca," in Ivan hoe. 76 MISS GRATZ. Thou flood'st mine eyes with dreams of glad-soul'd youth, Of virtue, faith, proud love and glorious thought ! " 2. And he was fain unto a brother knight His flower's sweet charms so duteously t' expound, That this, the very prince of poets, found In them an inspiration new and bright. Lo ! bloom'd Romance's whitest flower, bedight With all the grace that ever was renown'd, By dewy Love's ethcrial teardrops crown'd, And dower'd with a diadem of light ! Poor parable, thou failest ! 'twere thy task To paint in lovelier hues than thou hast done. Ah, witching Poetry, thou should'st unmask x\nd bare thy beauteous visage to the sun, When, humbly sueing, aid thy votaries ask To grace with praises what all hearts hath won ! EDUARD LASKER. Lf\SKER, untimely clos'd thy great career! ' Thy Hfe, an orb of deep'ning radiance, set In western heavens — 'twas meet, for toward these yet The starry mind doth wander swift and clear. Good statesman, brave and undefil'd ! no fear Deterr'd thy hand to grasp the maddening net That doth a mighty people leash and fret — Not thine, alas ! their pean shouts to hear. Germania ! who hast shown thy heroes great To hurl off chains of foreign tyranny, Who in thy olden forest days a state Didst foster in the lap of liberty, What now depresses and defies thee? — 'Tis the weight Of thine own armor. Loose it, and be free ! ON A VERY INVOLVED AND -WEIGHTY GERMAN SENTENCE. HERI'^ is a maze of Gotterdamnierung ! Dimness Titanic on the shore of Night, With scarce a ray of charitable hght Athwart th' inimitable darkness flung. All dismal, cheerless, like a dense fog hung Upon a sea wherein the Stagirite Or bold Quinctilian might have sunk from sight. With " help " upon his paralysed tongue ! Fine muse of Heine, that so fairly wrought, W^is this the language of thy vignettes frail ? With legions'such did Schiller make onslaught 'Gainst phalanx'd tyranny ? Let xA-tlas quail Before this mass of world-outweighing thought. Give up his championship and swift turn tail ! TRANSLATIONS. MADRIGAL. Voltaire. FAIR-EYED, yet dower'd with a lovelier heart, Simple and true thou art ! Though making nought of pretence to control, In fief thou holdst my soul. If thou hadst lived when Gabrielle did. None may aver Of thee what king or courtier might have said, — But certes none had spoke of her ! IN EXILE. Chateaubriand. HOW dearly I remember Our birth-place, sister mine, The cottage low, the pleasant ways. The ever-bright sunshine. O France ! how joyous were those days — My heart is thine. Sweet sis, dost thou remember Our mother, how at night She clasp'd us to her happy breast Beside our hearth-fire bright, And we her tresses golden press'd With kisses lieht ? IN EXILE. 83 O sis, dost thou remember The chateau by the Dore, Lav'd by the shady, Hmpid flood ; And that old Moorish tower Whence carillons right gaily pour'd At day-break's hour ? Dost thou the lake remember Whose crest the swallows skimm'd, Where with the wind the tall reed sway'd. And where, as wearj'-limb'd, Phoebus a couch of wavelets made, With grasses trimm'd ? And her dost thou remember. So gentle, sweet and mild, Who gather'd with us early flowers Through all those woodlands wild — The lost companion of my hours. For aye exil'd ? O who will give me back Helene, Or thee, my mountain home ? 84 IN EXILE. Cease, memories, fraught for mc with pain ! Yet France ! where'er I roam. To thee, my country, still again My heart shall turn ! THE DOLPHIN. Scheffel. CKV\\ Canipanella rounded we And toward Salerno bore, Amalfi's cliffs, high on our lee. Rose misty from the shore. The sailors in much-reefed hose Did roughly joke, and lo ! Their salty consolation rose : 'Sta sera maccaro ! With sea-breeze bathing" head and breast, With souls as clear as air, What keener pleasure could have bless'd Us Paestum-journeying pair ? 86 THE DOLPHIN. We greeted waves and evening red With cheer and gay hallo, And greeted eke our evening bread, 'Sta sera maccaro. As when Arion's sweet guitar Did o'er the waters steal, A swarm of dolphins, wide and far, Were soon about our keel. Jesu ! what sommersaults they turn'd, How merry was the show ! Sharp-headed fellows ! they had learn'd 'Sta sera maccaro. Lo, on us one did softly seem Above the rest intent. When in the captain's face a stream, A well-aim'd spurt, he sent. Of friendship 'twas a crooked act : " Give me an oar ! so ho ! " And swift his head he roundly crack'd — 'Sta sera maccaro ! THE DOLPHIN. Wc rcach'tl Salerno's strand that night; The inn was far, yet we A mountain Tore us all snow-white Of maccaro did see ! The sailors loud the banquet prais'd, We pilt^^rims twain also ; Only the dolphin was disgrac'd — 'Sta sera maccaro ! But when at midnight all the sea Did phosphorescent loom, The dolphin seem'd from out the bay To gaze into our room. Bugs, fleas and poisonous gnats our blood Suck'd till the stream ebb'd low ; The dolphin laugh'd from his cool flood, 'Sta sera maccaro ! 87 THE SKATER. Plbnnies. WHAT joy ! the river's bound in ice, Congeal'd it lies, a silver mead ; My skates are fasten'd in a trice, And down the glittering track I speed. How grandly fair doth Luna shine ! How wondrous gleams the frosty air ! The stream a palace crystalline Benail'd with diamonds doth appear ! I envy not the eagle's flight, I envy not the steed's career, Nor Boreas tearing through the night — A spirit, swift as thought, I fare. THE SKA TER. 89 That occanward all frozen were ! Fleet o'er the giant fields away, From Carthage to the Baltic's roar Fd speed my flight from break of day ! BOYHOOD. Holty. HOW happy ! round whose shoulders flies His boyish jacket gay — The dull Age ne'er he vilifies, He blithe as laughing May ! His wooden sword this stern hussar, His top thrown by, he draws, And like a general hous'd for war Sits grim his hobby-horse. So through the blue air, o'er the mead His bright-strip'd ball he shy, No care hath he for strife nor blood. For Philomel no sieh. BOYHOOD. 91 Nought irks him in the whole wide worUl Nor his fine liumor shakes Save when his ball away is swirl'd Or when his sword he breaks. My boy, the live- long happy day Sport blithe as e'er you will, — Go chase the butterfly away O'er flowery field and hill ! Not always thus. Soon shall you rage, Cramp'd in a schoolroom low, And sweat o'er many a stupid page Of mouldy Cicero. THE INCONVENIENCES OF FORTUNE. Desaiigiers. SINCE I've reach'd the pillow'd crest Of repose and luxury Vanish'd are the joys that bless'd Whilom careless, happy me. Like a lord I stretch and yawn — Happiness, I'll swear thou'rt gone ! Day and night I'm in a stew; Women come to me in tears, — Rents not ready, taxes due — Botheration to my cares ! Blessed saints, is this repose ? He who says so nothing knows. THE INCONVENIENCES OF FORTUNE. Appetite I'd fain repair; Bundrd in my new-bought coach. Dignity shall take the air! Shall ni)' wealth on health encroach ? With mine ale I'd happiest be, But the mode is to take tea. For a slight pain in my head Doctors consultations hold, Faculties stand by my bed. Give me physic, take my gold. Health, thou rosy, mocking witch. Thou art fled, and I am — rich ! Rut I see in princely style Lords and ladies driving up ; Muse, thy verselets cease awhile, When a duke approaches, stop ! 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