LOVE ELEGIES.
Elegy I.
The Poet relates how he obtained Delia's Pocket-handkerchief.
'Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare?
Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout!
Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair,
That left the tempting corner hanging out!
I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,
After long travel to some distant shrine,
When at the relic of his saint he kneels,
For Delia's POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF IS MINE.
When first with filching fingers I drew near,
Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein;
And when the finish'd deed removed my fear,
Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain.
What though the Eighth Commandment rose to mind,
It only served a moment's qualm to move;
For thefts like this it could not be design'd,
The Eighth Commandment WAS NOT MADE FOR LOVE!
Here when she took the macaroons from me,
She wiped her mouth to clean the crumbs so sweet!
Dear napkin! yes, she wiped her lips in thee!
Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.
And when she took that pinch of Mocabaw,
That made my Love so delicately sneeze,
Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw,
And thou art doubly dear for things like these.
No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er,
Sweet Pocket-handkerchief! thy worth profane;
For thou hast touch'd the rubies of my fair,
And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again.
Elegy II.
The Poet invokes the Spirits of the Elements to approach Delia.—He describes Her Singing.
Ye sylphs, who banquet on my Delia's blush,
Who on her locks of FLOATING GOLD repose,
Dip in her cheek your GOSSAMERY BRUSH,
And with its bloom of beauty tinge THE ROSE.
Hover around her lips on rainbow wing,
Load from her honey'd breath your viewless feet,
Bear thence a richer fragrance for the Spring
And make the lily and the violet sweet.
Ye GNOMES, whose toil through many a dateless year
Its nurture to the infant gem supplies,
From central caverns bring your diamonds here,
To ripen in the sun of Delia's eyes.
And ye who bathe in Etna's lava springs,
Spirits of fire! to see my love advance;
Fly, Salamanders, on Asbestos' wings,
To wanton in my Delia's fiery glance.
She weeps, she weeps! her eye with anguish swells,
Some tale of sorrow melts my FEELING GIRL!
Nymphs! catch the tears, and in Your lucid shells
Enclose them, EMBRYOS OF THE ORIENT PEARL.
She sings! the Nightingale with envy hears,
The Cherub listens from his starry throne,
And motionless are stopt the attentive SPHERES,
To hear more heavenly music than their own.
Cease, Delia, cease! for all the ANGEL THRONG,
Hearkening to thee, let sleep their golden wires!
Cease, Delia, cease, that too surpassing song,
Lest, stung to envy, they should break their lyres.
Cease, ere my senses are to madness driven
By the strong joy! Cease, Delia, lest my soul,
Enrapt, already THINK ITSELF IN HEAVEN,
And burst the feeble Body's frail control.
Elegy III.
The Poet Expatiates on the Beauty of Delia's Hair.
The comb between whose ivory teeth she strains
The straitening curls of gold so beamy bright,
Not spotless merely from the touch remains,
But issues forth more pure, more milky white.
The rose-pomatum that the FRISEUR spreads
Sometimes with honour'd fingers for my fair,
No added perfume on her tresses sheds,
But borrows sweetness from her sweeter hair.
Happy the FRISEUR who in Delia's hair
With licensed fingers uncontrol'd may rove!
And happy in his death the DANCING BEAR,
Who died to make pomatum for my LOVE.
Oh could I hope that e'er my favour'd lays
Might curl those lovely locks with conscious pride,
Nor Hammond, nor the Mantuan Shepherd's praise,
I'd envy them, nor wish reward beside.
Cupid has strung from you, O tresses fine,
The bow that in my breast impell'd his dart;
From you, sweet locks! he wove the subtile line
Wherewith the urchin angled for MY HEART.
Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads
That from the silk-worm, self-interr'd, proceed;
Fine as the GLEAMY GOSSAMER that spreads
Its filmy web-work o'er the tangled mead.
Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate
My captive heart has handcuff'd in a chain,
Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate,
That bears Britannia's thunders o'er the main.
The SYLPHS that round her radiant locks repair
In flowing lustre bathe their brightening wings;
And ELFIN MINSTRELS with assiduous care
The ringlets rob for FAERY FIDDLE-STRINGS.
Elegy IV.
The Poet relates how he stole a Lock of Delia's Hair, and her Anger.
Oh! be the day accurst that gave me birth!
Ye Seas, to swallow me in kindness rise!
Fall on me, Mountains! and thou merciful Earth,
Open, and hide me from my Delia's eyes!
Let universal Chaos now return,
Now let the central fires their prison burst,
And earth and heaven and air and ocean burn...
For Delia FROWNS... SHE FROWNS, and I am curst!
Oh! I could dare the fury of the fight
Where hostile MILLIONS sought my single life;
Would storm VOLCANO BATTERIES with delight,
And grapple with GRIM DEATH in glorious strife.
Oh! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove,
When ceaseless lightnings fire the midnight skies;
What is his wrath to that of HER I love?
What is his LIGHTNING to my Delia's eyes?
Go, fatal lock! I cast thee to the wind;
Ye serpent CURLS, ye poison-tendrils, go!
Would I could tear thy memory from my mind,
Accursed lock,... thou cause of all my woe!
Seize the CURST CURLS, ye Furies, as they fly!
Demons of Darkness, guard the infernal roll,
That thence your cruel vengeance when I die
May knit the KNOTS OF TORTURE for my SOUL.
Last night, ... oh, hear me, Heaven, and grant my prayer!
The BOOK OF FATE before thy suppliant lay,
And let me from its ample records tear
Only the single PAGE OF YESTERDAY.
Or let me meet old Time upon his flight,
And I will STOP HIM on his restless way:
Omnipotent in Love's resistless might,
I'll force him back the ROAD OF YESTERDAY.
Last night, as o'er the page of Love's despair,
My Delia bent deliciously to grieve,
I stood a treacherous loiterer by her chair,
And drew the FATAL SCISSORS from my sleeve:
And would that at that instant o'er my thread
The shears of Atropos had open'd then;
And when I reft the lock from Delia's head,
Had cut me sudden from the sons of men!
She heard the scissors that fair lock divide,
And whilst my heart with transport panted big,
She cast a FURY frown on me, and cried,
'You stupid PUPPY,... you have spoil'd my Wig!'