LOVE AND POETRY.
| They bid me Poetry resign—the mandate I obey: Farewell, forever then farewell, to the inspiring lay. I go to other happiness—in a bright and sunny clime I'll rove amid the orange groves, the olive, and the vine. I'll sing and dance to merry strains of some Italian band— I'll dream no more of Poetry, nor of "my native land;" And as the gondolier doth guide me home from mirth and song, My thoughts shall with the gondola glide undisturbed along. I'll live for fêtes and operas—I'll haunt the masquerade, And all sweet visions of the Lyre shall from my memory fade; And Love—(for that were Poetry)—I must resign: apart The Lyre and Love can ne'er exist within the human heart. And now once more I bid adieu to all thy tender joys Sweet Muse, and fly to festive scenes—to folly, mirth and noise; But ne'er amid these labyrinths, do I expect to find A solace for the loss of Love and Poetry combined. |