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There's not a clime beneath the starry cope
Of heaven, where, meet for ear of love or hope,
(And, oh, for thine, my Myra!) tragic lay,
A sweeter scene may chuse than CANDIA.
-Her waters flow for ever. From on high,
Where Ide holds mystic commune with the sky,
The innumerable streams dash down eternally ;
Rivers and fountains of her springs are born,
Before thein fades the vapour of the morn.
On pool or lake no insect trusts its egg,
To threaten Candia with Egyptian plague;
Aye, on the rapid torrent, to hoar ocean,
Borne with perpetual and impetuous motion.
-Wild on her niountains, and her hills sublime
The medicinal herb and odorous thyme
Abound. And in the vale the rivulet,
With myrtle, laurel-roses, overset,
Graceful as ringlets, doth in music jet
Along. And all her fields with orange-trees,
Citron, and almond, bloom and breathe, and please.
Robed are the plains with saffron. Dittany
Festoons the rocks fantastic cavity:
The creeping jasmine tufts the fragrant way,
And makes each garden an Arabia :
The violet purples o’er the vernal bower,
As Bacchus' self were changed into a flower.
The hills, the vales, the plains, rejoice. The balm
Curls up in sightless clouds through ether calin,
Making day sick with spices exquisite ;
”Till eve, with her soft footsteps, treads out light.
- Then conieth forth, in all her glory, Night,
Displaying through clear azure, vapour-free,
What a rich Stellar Paradise hath she,
Under which the lithe shepherd sleepeth. He
Trembles not for his folded fleecy charge,
Lest they fall victim to the beast at large,
Lion, or tiger, wolf, or fox, or bear;
The sportive goat the wildest native here,
Who, save the hunter's ball, hath nought to fear,
Wild denizen of mountains where he playeth ;
The while the timorous hare on the hills strayeth ;
And o'er the plains the sheep so innocent
Browse on the thyme and heath, securely and content.
The moon and stars flood heaven,-'tis midnight deep ;
Ilow soft the hour,-soft as the breath of sleep!
Lone silence reigns through this expanded ball,
Nature's kind nurse, Repose, embraces all.
Hail, blest Repose! thou quick Creation's tomb !
Hail, blest Repose ! how like our mortal doom !
The eye beholds not, nor the ear perceives,
And all their mighty world the spirit leaves.
-How great thy benison ! bail, sacred Sleep!
The lover in thive arms forgets to weep;
The king, his dignity and high command;
The patriot, all the peril of his land;
Regardless lies the scholar of his lore;
The warrior of the trumpet's future roar:
Thou, in thy palace, spread'st thy sombre plumes,
Deepening still more the deep nocturnal glooms-
Then beckon'st Morpheus, deity of dreams,
Who, e'en from sleep, wakes Fancy's mimic gleams;
Observant to the silent dome be hies,
Through whose dim portals each quaint vision flies.
The unhappy dream their cloudy days are sped,
And fairy prospects open in their stead;
The cup of joy's dash'd from the happy man,
demon loads him with a ban:
Heroes, encamp’d, enjoy their peaceful loves,
The fond of peace with red Bellona moves;
Valour is stricken with uncommon fear,
While cowards 'sdein to fly, and every danger dare.
Whistling, the scholar tends the plough and team;
A sapient scholar is the ploughboy's dream :
The king's a peasant, and, not strange to sing,
The peasant rises equal to a king:
Sea-parted lovers fill each other's arms,
And gaze, enraptur'd, on each other's charms:
They, whom a parent's avarice would divide,
Are with the hymeneal roses tied-
Hail, sacred Sleep! how fearful, if denied !
How fearful, if some ruthless thought, or will,
Prevent the precious balm thy dewy wings distil.
To Antilistos Sleep her balm denies; Wildly he starts, and rolls his troubled eyes, Thus, at the breeze, starts waking sentinel, Conscious that he hath not been watching well. But not the sentinel that fears the breeze, And springs to meet his sudden enemies ; Nor shipman, when he hears the storm-blast rise, Betrays such inward shrilling agonies: He looks at heaven; the stars, e'en now, so bright, Have disappeared, and rayless left the night, Dark as his soul, where he the battle fought Of guilty purpose, and forbidding thought. But steel?d it soon 'gainst Truth's mysterious dart, Stifled compunction, and resolved his heart : “ Follow not all men passions which they love? Some which your frigid sages e'en approve. And wherein differ they? Their strife of wit, And emulation, is but envy yet; Their wisdom cunning, and their love but lust, And, for they cannot injure, only just. But wherefore reason? What have these to do, These idle saws the old from charnels drew, With living charms ?-their rugged morals cold With form and eye, that fire whoe'er behold ?"
IV. The King hath left the cot by virtue blest ; Awake alone,-its gentle dwellers rest. Like an unquiet spirit of the tomb, The tyrant stalketh through the horrid gloom. Flashed not the lightning ? Hark! the thunder rolls, That awful voice which threatens guilty souls : Th’ electric fire divides the gleaming air, And shocks the night with momentary glare; So oft as its blue shafts red-feathered fly, The thunder shakes the empire of the sky, The dreaming peasants from their couches start, And gaze, and listen, with a panting heart: Full many a tree extends along the plain; Vast is the tumult of the troubled main: Full many a wreck, the ensuing morn, I weer, With weeping eyes, by numbers will be seen :
But heaven avert the mischiefs which impend,
And on the bill of storms the mariner defend.
Why rolls the thunder in thee, gentle clime?
Shows heaven its horror at the purpos'd crime,
The tyrant's soul conceals ? Such dreadful ione
Of vast concussion is almost unknown
In thee, thou lovely and thou temperate land,
Of calm, of pleasant sun, of breezes bland;
Or launches Jove his thunderbolts of wrath,
To stop the guilty despot in his path,
And with his lightning waken in his breast,
The smould'ring thought that long had been represt,
But cannot die? And did the flash impart
The flame of strong conviction to his heart?
His soul, his soul was touched not; yet he stood
Listening the storm awhile, in wondering mood;
Though all his soul expands before mine eye,
No trace of such a thought I can espy.
Beneath a pine-tree, on the mountain's side, Did from the blast the courtier safely bide, Waiting his monarch from the Vale of Ide. He greets him now, his lawless passion told, The cringing slave no plaudit dare withhold. Poor Majesty and Power !- that throne how cursed, Whence Truth and all her children are dispersed; While Adulation, at the monarch’s hand, Holds favoured right, and absolute command ! And sterner, at the pleasing parlance still, The King's heart grows, more resolute in ill.
Flattery, like Iris, vests her in all hues,
And every change alternately pursues ;
The hour of misery it ne'er beguiles,
But on prosperity for ever smiles :
When glows the sun-beam on the rainy tear,
The hues of heaven across the vault appear.
Such, and so short, is Flattery's borrowed ray,
With that same bounteous beam it fades away.
A wakes the Morn, and her enlivening beam
Bathes in the dew, and brightens in the stream:
Refulgent rides the sun o'er Ida's height,
But partly shewing his obstructed light.
Thus, on the vast circumfluous wave, is seen
The distant sail arising at the ken;
Night's shades and stars recede before his car,
Now, past the mountain, blaze his shafts afar;
Fly the black clouds, with shock tempestuous fraught,
And beaming gladness with the day is brought.
While the blithe bird of morn resumes bis strain,
Waking his race to hail Aurora's reign;
Rise, as were wont, the charitable pair,
The good Aristes and Sabina fair,-
They, with their son, the garden wend around,
And give each labourer bis allotted ground.
At length, they on the stranger meditate,
Whom they suppose from sleep unrisen yet;
And thus the social converse ran, as they
Passed through the dews that pearleil in morning.ray.
“ To see the sun begin his early roam,
And his fresh coursers champ the golden foain ;
To see the flowers expand their buds anew,
And, blushing, greet the god they love to view ;
To hear the grove's rich melodies combined,
That bail the morn, and harmonize the mind,
Arises not our guest. This fair-born day
Might on his sorrows glarice a joyful ray:
But grief, all seasons, day and night inverts,-
The sun sleep visits, and the moon deserts.
Haply, this night, amid the tempest's roar,
That tossed the sea, and shook our island shore,
Soundly he slept, as on the mountain height
The hermit, careless of the stormy night ;
And haply, when the storm no more annoys,
Anguish his soul's serenity destroys.”
“ Then let him rest! and in the arms of sleep
For a brief little moment leave to weep;
And blest be heaven, that unto us it grants,
For that brief moment to supply his wants.
O! who would shut the soul, who knows to feel
For other's sorrows, and their wounds to heal ?
To be like gods, who gave what they have sent,
That we, like them, may be benevolent ;
More needy in their sight, than are the poor,
To him who riots in superfluous store.
Go! list to Nature, for she hath a voice,
Give what I give; let all, like us, rejoice.
Leave not a heart to bleed, a soul to pine,
And let the joy of thousands be but thine !
Thus the full flowers, and thus the cluster'd fruit;
In silence sing, most eloquently mute."
VOL. I. PART II.