Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Why did I see them? had I still remain'd
Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art,
My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd,
Nor known the torments of a doubting heart.

Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires,

Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain ? Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires, Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain.

Suff'ring, I suffer not-sincerely love,

Yet feel no touch of that enliv'ning flame; As chance inclines me, unconcern'd I move, All times, and all events, to me the same.

I search my heart, and not a wish is there,
But burns with zeal that hated self may fall;
Such is the sad disquietude I share,

A sea of doubts, and self the source of all.

I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ;

And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure,
I would not purchase with a single sigh,
A free discharge from all that I endure.

I groan in chains, yet want not a release:
Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part;

Am just as void of purpose, as of peace;

Have neither pain, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.

My claim to life, though sought with earnest care,
No light within me, or without me, shows;
Once I had faith; but now, in self-despair
Find my chief cordial, and my best repose.

My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks,

Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise; Feels an indiff'rence she abhors, and thinks Her name erased for ever from the skies.

Language affords not my distress a name,--
Yet is it real, and no sickly dream ;
"Tis Love inflicts it; though to feel that flame,
Is all I know of happiness supreme.

When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast,
And dark as hell, is open'd in the soul;

When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past,
No tempests shake her, and no fears control.

Then tell me, why these ages of delay?

Oh Love, all-excellent, once more appear; Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, From this abyss of night, these floods of fear!

No Love is angry, will not now endure

A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint; He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure! Exhausts my pow'rs, and leaves me sick and faint.

He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow;
He flies, he re-appears, and wounds again-
Was ever beart that loved thee treated so?

Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain.

And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind; Thou didst distinguish, and vouchsafe to choose, Before thy laws were written in my mind,

While yet the world had all my thoughts and views?

Now leave me? when, enamour'd of thy laws,
I make thy glory my supreme delight;
Now blot me from thy register, and cause
A faithful soul to perish from thy sight?

What can have caused the change which I deplore!
Is it to prove me, if my heart be true!
Permit me then, while prostrate I adore,

To draw, and place its picture in thy view.

'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine : So given to thee, that it is not my own;

A willing captive of thy grace divine;

And loves, and seeks thee, for thyself alone.

Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare;

Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust; It loves thee e'en when least inclined to spare Its tend'rest feelings, and avows thee just.

'Tis all thine own; my spirit is so tog,
An undivided off'ring at thy shrine!
It seeks thy glory with no double view,
Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine

Love, holy Love! and art thou not se ere,
To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix'd!
Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear

From all self-bias, gen'rous and unmix'd.

But I am silent, seeing what I see

And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived:
Not e'en my faith is from suspicion free,
And, that I love, seems not to be believed.

Live thou, and reign, for ever, glorious Lord!
My last, least off'ring, I present thee now--
Renounce me, leave me, and be still adored;

Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow.

WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON

Sleep at last has fled these eyes,
Nor do I regret his flight,

More alert my spirits rise,

And my heart is free and light.

Nature silent all around,

Not a single witness near;

God as soon as sought is found;

And the flame of love burns clear.

Interruption, all day long,

Checks the current of my joys;
Creatures press me with a throng,
And perplex me with their noise.

Undisturb'd I muse all night,
On the first Eternal Fair;
Nothing there obstructs delight,
Love is renovated there.

Life with its perpetual stir,

Proves a foe to Love and me

Fresh entanglements occur-

Comes the night, and sets me free

Never more, sweet sleep, suspena
My enjoyments, always new;
Leave me to possess my Friend;
Other eyes and hearts subdue.

Hush the world that I may wake
To the taste of pure delights;
Oh the pleasure I partake-

God, the partner of my night!

David, for the self-same cause,
Night preferr'd to busy day;
Hearts, whom heav'nly beauty draws,
Wish the glaring sun away.

Sleep, self-lovers, is for you-
Souls that love celestial know,
Fairer scenes by night can view,
Than the sun could ever show.

ON THE SAME.

Season of my purest pleasure,
Sealer of observing eyes!
When, in larger, freer measure,
I can commune with the skies;
While, beneath thy shade extended,
Weary man forgets his woes;
I, my daily trouble ended,

Find, in watching, my repose.

Silence all around prevailing,

Nature hush'd in slumber sweet, No rude noise mine ears assailing, Now my God and I can meet: Universal nature slumbers,

And my soul partakes the calm, Breathes her ardour out in numbers, Plaintive song or lofty psalm.

Now my passion, pure and holy,
Shines and burns, without restraint!
Which the day's fatigue and folly
Cause to lanquish dim and faint :
Charming hours of relaxation!
How I dread th' ascending sun!
Surely, idle conversation

Is an evil match'd by none.

Worldly prate and babble hurt me;
Unintelligible prove ;

Neither teach me nor divert me;
I have ears for none but love.
Me, they rude esteem, and foolish,
Hearing my absurd replies;
I have neither art's fine polish,
Nor the knowledge of the wise.

Simple souls and unpolluted,
By conversing with the Great,
Have a mind and taste, ill suited
To their dignity and state;
All their talking, reading, writing.
Are but talents misapplied;
Infant's prattle I delight in,
Nothing human choose beside.

'Tis the secret fear of sinning Checks my tongue, or I should say, When I see the night beginning, I am glad of parting day; Love, this gentle admonition Whispers soft within my breast? "Choice befits not thy condition. 66 Acquiescence suits thee best."

Henceforth, the repose and pleasure
Night affords me, I resign:
And thy will shall be the measure,
Wisdom infinite! of mine:

Wishing is but inclination

Quarrelling with thy decrees; Wayward nature finds th' occasion'Tis her folly and disease.

Night, with its sublime enjoyments,
Now no longer will I choose ;
Nor the day with its employments,

« AnteriorContinuar »