ART thou, then, vex'd at my silence? What shall I speak of? Thou markest
Neither my sorrowful sigh, nor my soft eloquent look.

Only one goddess is able the seal of my lips to unloosen,--
When by Aurora I'm found, slumbering calm on thy breast.

Ah, then my hymn in the ears of the earliest gods shall be chaunted,
As the Memnonian form breath'd forth sweet secrets in song.

-----
IN the twilight of morning to climb to the top of the mountain,--

Thee to salute, kindly star, earliest herald of day,--
And to await, with impatience, the gaze of the ruler of heaven,--

Youthful delight, oh oft lur'st thou me out in the night!
Oh ye heralds of day, ye heavenly eyes of my mistress,

Now ye appear, and the sun evermore riseth too soon.
-----

THOU art amazed, and dost point to the ocean. It seems to be burning,
Flame-crested billows in play dart round our night-moving bark.

Me it astonisheth not,--of the ocean was born Aphrodite,--
Did not a flame, too, proceed from her for us, in her son?

-----
GLEAMING the ocean appear'd, the beauteous billows were smiling,

While a fresh, favouring wind, filling the sails, drove us on.
Free was my bosom from yearning; yet soon my languishing glances

Turn'd themselves backward in haste, seeking the snow-cover'd hills.
Treasures unnumber'd are southwards lying. Yet one to the northwards

Draws me resistlessly back, like the strong magnet in force.
-----

SPACIOUS and fair is the world; yet oh! how I thank the kind heavens
That I a garden possess, small though it be, yet mine own.

One which enticeth me homewards; why should a gardener wander?
Honour and pleasure he finds, when to his garden he looks.

-----
AH, my maiden is going! she mounts the vessel! My monarch,

AEolus! potentate dread! keep ev'ry storm far away!
"Oh, thou fool!" cried the god:"ne'er fear the blustering tempest;

When Love flutters his wings, then mayst thou dread the soft breeze."
-----

ELEGIES.
-----

PART I.
ROMAN ELEGIES.

[The Roman Elegies were written in the same year as the Venetian
Epigrams--viz. 1790.]

SPEAK, ye stones, I entreat! Oh speak, ye palaces lofty!
Utter a word, oh ye streets! Wilt thou not, Genius, awake?

All that thy sacred walls, eternal Rome, hold within them
Teemeth with life; but to me, all is still silent and dead.

Oh, who will whisper unto me,--when shall I see at the casement
That one beauteous form, which, while it scorcheth, revives?

Can I as yet not discern the road, on which I for ever
To her and from her shall go, heeding not time as it flies?

Still do I mark the churches, palaces, ruins, and columns,
As a wise traveller should, would he his journey improve.

Soon all this will be past; and then will there be but one temple,
Amor's temple alone, where the Initiate may go.

Thou art indeed a world, oh Rome; and yet, were Love absent,
Then would the world be no world, then would e'en Rome be no Rome.

-----
Do not repent, mine own love, that thou so soon didst surrender

Trust me, I deem thee not bold! reverence only I feel.
Manifold workings the darts of Amor possess; some but scratching,

Yet with insidious effect, poison the bosom for years.
Others mightily feather'd, with fresh and newly-born sharpness

Pierce to the innermost bone, kindle the blood into flame.
In the heroical times, when loved each god and each goddess,

Longing attended on sight; then with fruition was bless'd.
Think'st thou the goddess had long been thinking of love and its pleasures

When she, in Ida's retreats, own'd to Anchises her flame?
Had but Luna delayd to kiss the beautiful sleeper,

Oh, by Aurora, ere long, he had in envy been rous'd!
Hero Leander espied at the noisy feast, and the lover

Hotly and nimbly, ere long, plunged in the night-cover'd flood.
Rhea Silvia, virginprincess, roam'd near the Tiber,

Seeking there water to draw, when by the god she was seiz'd.
Thus were the sons of Mars begotten! The twins did a she-wolf

Suckle and nurture,--and Rome call'd herself queen of the world,
-----

ALEXANDER, and Caesar, and Henry, and Fred'rick, the mighty,
On me would gladlybestow half of the glory they earn'd,

Could I but grant unto each one night on the couch where I'm lying;
But they, by Orcus's night, sternly, alas! are held down.

Therefore rejoice, oh thou living one, blest in thy love-lighted homestead,
Ere the dark Lethe's sad wave wetteth thy fugitive foot.

-----
THESE few leaves, oh ye Graces, a bard presents, in your honour,

On your altar so pure, adding sweet rosebuds as well,
And he does it with hope. The artist is glad in his workshop,

When a Pantheon it seems round him for ever to bring.
Jupiter knits his godlike brow,--her's, Juno up-lifteth;

Phoebus strides on before, shaking his curly-lock'd head
Calmly and drily Minerva looks down, and Hermes the light one,

Turneth his glances aside, roguish and tender at once.
But tow'rds Bacchus, the yielding, the dreaming, raiseth Cythere

Looks both longing and sweet, e'en in the marble yet moist.
Of his embraces she thinks with delight, and seems to be asking

"Should not our glorious son take up his place by our side?"
-----

AMOR is ever a rogue, and all who believe him are cheated!
To me the hypocrite came: "Trust me, I pray thee, this once.

Honest is now my intent,--with grateful thanks I acknowledge
That thou thy life and thy works hast to my worship ordain'd.

See, I have follow'd thee thither, to Rome, with kindly intention,
Hoping to give thee mine aid, e'en in the foreigner's land.

Every trav'ller complains that the quarters he meets with are wretched
Happily lodged, though, is he, who is by Amor receiv'd.

Thou dost observe the ruins of ancient buildings with wonder,
Thoughtfully wandering on, over each time-hallow'd spot.

Thou dost honour still more the worthy relics created
By the few artists--whom I loved in their studios to seek.

I 'twas fashion'd those forms! thy pardon,--I boast not at present;
Presently thou shalt confess, that what I tell thee is true.

Now that thou serv'st me more idly, where are the beauteous figures,
Where are the colours, the light, which thy creations once fill'd?

Hast thou a mind again to form? The school of the Grecians
Still remains open, my friend; years have not barr'd up its doors.

I, the teacher, am ever young, and love all the youthful,
Love not the subtle and old; Mother, observe what I say!

Still was new the Antique, when yonder blest ones were living;
Happily live,--and, in thee, ages long vanish'd will live!

Food for song, where hop'st thou to find it? I only can give it,
And a more excellent style, love, and love only can teach."

Thus did the Sophist discourse. What mortal, alas! could resist him?
And when a master commands, I have been train'd to obey.

Now he deceitfully keeps his word, gives food for my numbers,
But, while he does so, alas! robs me of time, strength, and mind.

Looks, and pressure of hands, and words of kindness, and kisses,
Syllables teeming with thought, by a fond pair are exchang'd.

Then becomes whispering, talk,--and stamm'ring, a language enchanting;
Free from all prosody's rules, dies such a hymn on the ear.

Thee, Aurora, I used to own as the friend of the Muses;
Hath, then, Amor the rogue cheated, Aurora, e'en thee?

Thou dost appear to me now as his friend, and again dost awake me