And ceas'd again, and cried exultingly
"I am a poet too!"-Delightful days!
Never too oft remember'd, ne'er recall'd
To view, but straight ye shed a brighter gleam,
Transient indeed, upon the drooping soul;
And fancy once engaged joys to roam
O'er every scene, and once again renew
The times so sweetly but so quickly past,
And rapt in dulcet dreams, forgets the world
And all its idle toil; well pleas'd to trace
The beauteous vision 'till she thinks it true
And present to the eyes; until awak'd
To dull reality, she looks around
Unjoyous, disappointed-views the scene -
That now appears with sadly listless glance,
And strives in vain once more to close her sight
Upon its gewgaw pageantry, and once more
To slumber o'er her long bereav'd delights;
And turning from the tasteless scenes around
She mourns for every youthful vanish'd joy.
To riper years advanc'd, more serious toil Engag'd his studious care, with Paan's sons Enroll'd, 'gainst fell disease, and pain, and death, To wage a dubious war; to raise the weak; The low and fainting mortal to restore To happiness and health; to give such joy As saints in heaven may envy when we snatch The sinking parent from the arms of death, And give him rescued to the warm embrace Of his fond children and his faithful wife;
Yet trembling lest their joys again decay
And smiling tearfully.-Full many a day
Has led him to the lone, obscure abode
Where poverty, and pain, and misery,
Retire forlorn to lay them down and die;
Nor did he part unblest that here his hand
Had haply minist'red to other's woes
Some comfort: and him oft the night has seen
Watching the restless pillow of disease,
Or to hot fever's parch'd and shrivell❜d lips
The cooling cup administ'ring. Him too
The tardy midnight hour has often left
Seduc'd from sleep to pore upon the page
That holds the records of the healing art,
Fir'd with an ardent zeal to gain the skill
That ranks its owner with the truly great,
And next to God the patron of mankind.
Yet often would he steal aside to sip
Intoxicating draughts of the sweet fount-
WHEN calm is the night, and the stars shine bright, The sleigh glides smooth and cheerily;
And mirth and jest abound,
While all is still around,
Save the horses' trampling sound,
And the horse-bells tinkling merrily.
But when the drifting snow, in the trav'llers face
And hail is driving drearily,
And the wind is shrill and loud,
Then no sleigh shall stir abroad,
Nor along the beaten road
Shall the horse-bells tinkle merrily.
But to night the skies are clear, and we have not to fear
That the time should linger wearily;
For good-humour has a charm
Even winter to disarm,
And our cloaks shall wrap us warm,
And the bells shall tinkle merrily.
And whom do I spy, with the sparkling eye,
And lips that pout so cherrily;
Round her neck the tippet tied,
Ready in the sleigh to glide?—
Oh! with her I love to ride,
When the horse-bells tinkle merrily.
COURIER, take for me a letter,
To the Lady whom I prize;
Tell her I more dearly love her
Than the light that glads my eyes.*
'Anna! Anna! I beseech you,
By the love you bear your son,
Haste to mount upon your palfrey,
Come to me, and come alone!
To my house, and to my garden,
To the Coja'st garden come!
I will meet thee there my Anna!
I will bid thee welcome home.
This the house, and this the garden,
Where the tuneful birds repair,
Where waters from the jutting fountain
Scatter coolness through the air.
It was not easy to avoid, in this line, a similarity to a verse in Gray's Bard. The original says simply "more than my eyes." †Coja literally signifies a secretary, but it is a title applied to all the great officers at the court of Tunis.
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