« EelmineJätka »
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
Which, like the needle true, Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But, turning, trembles too.
Far, as distress the soul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree: 'Tis bliss but to a certain bound;
Beyond, is agony.
Take then this treacherous sense of mine,
Which dooms me still to smart; Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pains new pangs impart.
Oh, haste to shed the sacred balm!
My shatter'd nerves new string; And for my guest, serenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring.
At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,
See Expectation fly;
That blasts the promis'd joy.
The tear which Pity taught to flow,
The eye shall then disown;
Shall then scarce feel its own.
The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close, And tranquil days shall still succeed
To nights of calm repose.
O fairy elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort send; And so may never-fading bliss
Thy flow'ry paths attend !
So may the glow-worm's gliminering light
Thy tiny footsteps lead,
Unknown to mortal tread.
And be thy acorn goblet fill'd
With heaven's ambrosial dew,
That shed fresh sweets for you.
And what of life remains for me
I'll pass in sober ease;
Content but half to please.
THE FAIRY'S ANSWER.
BY THE MARGRAVINE OF ANSPACH.
Without preamble, to my friend
Or give, if I am able!
It looks so like a fable--
Last night's adventure is my theme;
Yet soon its high import
To be compos’d in sport.
Fair Luna shone serenely bright,
While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
Still echo'd to the breeze.
Enwrapt in solemn thoughts I sate,
Yet void of hope or fear;
Surpris'd my eye and ear.
A form superior to the rest
And gently thus began:
Explain it if you can.
“ Such incense has perfum'd my throne,
I think I guess the hand:
I cannot understand.
“ To light some flames, and some revive,
Full oft I am implor'd:
« Tell her, with fruitless care I've sought, And though my realms with wonder fraught,
In remedies abound,
In all my fairy round,
“The regions of the sky I'd trace,
Each leaf, each herb, each flower,
Or lull the restless hour.
“ I would be generous as I'm just,
Those laws which Fate has made:
Should man my state invade?
" 'Twould put your mind into a rage, And such unequal war to wage
Suits not my regal duty ! I dare not change a first decree, She's doom'd to please, nor can be free
Such is the lot of beauty!"
This said, he darted o'er the plain,
No glimpse of him I find :
Imprinted on my mind.