Would thou wert fair for only me,
And couldst no heart but mine allure!--
To all men else unpleasing be,
So shall I feel my prize secure.
Oh, love like mine ne'er wants the zest
Of others' envy, others' praise;
But, in its silence safely blest,
Broods o'er a bliss it ne'er betrays.
Charm of my life! by whose sweet power
All cares are husht, all ills subdued--
My light in even the darkest hour,
My crowd in deepest solitude!
No, not tho' heaven itself sent down
Some maid of more than heavenly charms,
With bliss undreamt thy bard to crown,
Would he for her forsake those arms!
IMITATION.
FROM THE FRENCH.
With women and apples both Paris and Adam
Made mischief enough in their day:--
God be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear Madam,
Depends not on _us_, the same way.
For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple,
The world would have doubly to rue thee:
Like Adam, I'd gladly take _from_ thee the apple,
Like Paris, at once give it _to_ thee.
INVITATION TO DINNER.
ADDRESSED TO LORD LANSDOWNE.
September, 1818.
Some think we bards have nothing real;
That poets live among the stars so,
Their very dinners are ideal,--
(And, heaven knows, too oft they _are_ so,)--
For instance, that we have, instead
Of vulgar chops and stews and hashes,
First course--a Phoenix, at the head.
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