BLEST was my lot—ah! sure ’twas bliss, my friend, | |
| The day—by heavens! the live-long day to spend | |
| With Love and my Limona! Hence! in vain | |
| Would mimic Fancy bring those scenes again; | |
| In vain delighted memory tries to raise | 5 |
| My doubtful song, and aid my will to praise. | |
| In vain! Nor fancy strikes, nor memory knows, | |
| The little springs from whence those joys arose. | |
| Yet come, coy Fancy, sympathetic maid! | |
| Yes, I will ask, I will implore thy aid: | 10 |
| For I would tell my friend whate’er befell; | |
| Whate’er I saw, whate’er I did, I’ll tell. | |
| But what I felt—sweet Venus! there inspire | |
| My lay, or wrap his soul in all thy fire. | |
| |
| Bright rose the morn, and bright remained the day; | 15 |
| The mead was spangled with the bloom of May: | |
| We on the bank of a sweet stream were laid, | |
| With blushing rose and lowly violets spread; | |
| Fast by our side a spreading plane-tree grew, | |
| And waved its head, that shone with morning dew. | 20 |
| The bank acclivous rose, and swelled above— | |
| The frizzled moss a pillow for my love. | |
| Trees with their ripened stores glowed all around, | |
| The loaded branches bowed upon the ground; | |
| Sure the fair virgins of Pomona’s train | 25 |
| In those glad orchards hold their fertile reign. | |
| The fruit nectareous, and the scented bloom | |
| Wafted on Zephyr’s wing their rich perfume; | |
| A leaf I bruised—what grateful scents arose! | |
| Ye gods! what odours did a leaf disclose. | 30 |
| Aloft each elm slow waved its dusky top, | |
| The willing vine embraced the sturdy prop: | |
| And while we strayed the ropened grape to find, | |
| Around our necks the clasping tendrils twined; | |
| I with a smile would tell the entangled fair, | 35 |
| I envied e’en the vines a lodging there; | |
| Then twist them off, and soothe with amorous play | |
| Her breasts, and kiss each rosy mark away. | |
| Cautious Limona trod—her step was slow— | |
| For much she feared the skulking fruits below; | 40 |
| Cautious—lest haply she, with slipp’ry tread, | |
| Might tinge her snowy feet with vinous red. | |
| Around with critic glance we viewed the store, | |
| And oft rejected what we’d praised before; | |
| This would my love accept, and this refuse, | 45 |
| For varied plenty puzzled us to choose. | |
| “Here may the bunches tasteless, immature, | |
| Unheeded learn to blush, and swell secure; | |
| In richer garb yon turgid clusters stand, | |
| And glowing purple tempts the plund’ring hand.” | 50 |
| “Then reach ’em down,” she said, “for you can reach, | |
| And cull, with daintiest hand, the best of each.” | |
| Pleased I obeyed, and gave my love—whilst she | |
| Returned sweet thanks, and picked the best for me: | |
| ’Twas pleasing sure—yet I refused her suit, | 55 |
| But kissed the liberal hand that held the fruit. | |
| |
| Hard by the ever-jovial harvest train | |
| Hail the glad season of Pomona’s reign; | |
| With rustic song around her fane they stand, | |
| And lisping children join the choral band: | 60 |
| They busily intent now strive to aid, | |
| Now first they’re taught the hereditary trade: | |
| ’Tis theirs to class the fruits in order due, | |
| For pliant rush to search the meadow through; | |
| To mark if chance unbruised a wind-fall drop, | 65 |
| Or teach the infant vine to know its prop. | |
| And haply too some aged sire is there, | |
| To check disputes, and give to each his share; | |
| With feeble voice their little work he cheers, | |
| Smiles at their toil, and half forgets his years. | 70 |
| “Here let the pippin, fretted o’er with gold, | |
| In fost’ring straw defy the winter’s cold; | |
| The hardier russet here will safely keep, | |
| And dusky rennet with its crimson cheek; | |
| But mind, my boys, the mellow pear to place | 75 |
| In soft enclosure, with divided space; | |
| And mindful most how lies the purple plum, | |
| Nor soil, with heedless touch, its native bloom.” | |
| |
| Intent they listened to the instructing lord; | |
| But most intent to glean their reward. | 80 |
| |
| Now turn, my loved Limona, turn and view | |
| How changed the scene! how elegantly new! | |
| Mark how yon vintager enjoys his toil; | |
| Glows with flush red, and Bacchanalian smile: | |
| His slipp’ry sandals burst the luscious vine, | 85 |
| And splash alternate in the new-born wine. | |
| Nor far the lab’ring train, whose care supplies | |
| The trodden press, and bids fresh plenty rise. | |
| The teeming boughs that bend beneath their freight, | |
| One busy peasant eases of the weight; | 90 |
| One climbs to where the aspiring summits shoot; | |
| Beneath, a hoary sire receives the fruit. | |
| |
| Pleased we admired the jovial bustling throng, | |
| Blest e’en in toil!—but we admired not long. | |
| For calmer joys we left the busy scene, | 95 |
| And sought the thicket and the stream again; | |
| For sacred was the fount, and all the grove | |
| Was hallowed kept, and dedicate to love. | |
| Soon gentle breezes, freshened from the wave, | |
| Our temples fanned, and whispered us to lave. | 100 |
| The stream itself seem’d murm’ring at our feet | |
| Sweet invitation from the noon-day heat. | |
| We bathed—and while we swam, so clear it flowed, | |
| That every limb the crystal mirror showed. | |
| But my love’s bosom oft deceived my eye, | 105 |
| Resembling those fair fruits that glided by; | |
| For which I thought her swelling breast to clasp, | |
| An apple met my disappointed grasp. | |
| Delightful was the stream itself—I swear, | |
| By those glad nymphs who make the founts their care, | 110 |
| It was delightful:—but more pleasing still, | |
| When sweet Limona sported in the rill: | |
| For her soft blush such sweet reflection gave, | |
| It tinged with rosy hues the pallid wave. | |
| Thus, thus delicious was the murm’ring spring, | 115 |
| Nor less delicious the cool zephyr’s wing; | |
| Which mild allayed the sun’s meridian power, | |
| And swept the fragrant scent from every flower; | |
| A scent, that feasted my transported sense, | |
| Like that Limona’s sweet perfumes dispense: | 120 |
| But still, my Love, superior thine, I swear— | |
| At least thy partial lover thinks they are. | |
| |
| Near where we sat, full many a gladd’ning sound, | |
| Beside the rustling breeze, was heard around: | |
| The little grasshopper essayed its song, | 125 |
| As if ’twould emulate the feathered throng: | |
| Still lisped it uniform—yet now and then | |
| It something chirped, and skipped upon the green. | |
| Aloft the sprightly warblers filled the grove; | |
| Sweet native melody! sweet notes of love! | 130 |
| While nightingales their artless strains essayed, | |
| The air, methought, felt cooler in the glade: | |
| A thousand feathered throats the chorus joined, | |
| And held harmonious converse with mankind. | |
| |
| Still in mine eye the sprightly songsters play, | 135 |
| Sport on the wing, or twitter on the spray; | |
| On foot alternate rest their little limbs, | |
| Or cool their pinions in the gliding streams; | |
| Surprise the worm, or sip the brook aloof, | |
| Or watch the spider weave his subtle woof.— | 140 |
| We the meantime discoursed in whispers low, | |
| Lest haply speech disturb the rural show. | |
| |
| Listen.—Another pleasure I display, | |
| That helped delightfully the time away. | |
| From distant vales, where bubbles from its source | 145 |
| A crystal rill, they dug a winding course: | |
| See! through the grove a narrow lake extends, | |
| Crosses each plot, to each plantation bends; | |
| And while the fount in new meanders glides, | |
| The forest brightens with refreshing tides. | 150 |
| Towards us they taught the new-born stream to flow, | |
| Towards us it crept irresolute and slow: | |
| Scarce had the infant current trickled by, | |
| When lo! a wondrous fleet attracts our eye: | |
| Laden with draughts might greet a monarch’s tongue, | 155 |
| The mimic navigation swam along. | |
| Hasten, ye ship-like goblets, down the vale, | |
| Your freight a flagon, and a leaf your sail. | |
| Oh may no envious rush thy course impede, | |
| Or floating apple stop thy tide-borne speed. | 160 |
| His mildest breath a gentle zephyr gave; | |
| The little vessels trimly stemmed the wave: | |
| Their precious merchandise to land they bore, | |
| And one by one resigned the balmy store. | |
| Stretch but a hand, we boarded them, and quaft | 165 |
| With native luxury the tempered draught. | |
| For where they loaded the nectareous fleet, | |
| The goblet glowed with too intense a heat; | |
| Cooled by degrees in these convivial ships, | |
| With nicest taste it met our thirsty lips. | 170 |
| |
| Thus in delight the flowery path we trod | |
| To Venus sacred, and the rosy god: | |
| Here might we kiss, here Love secure might reign, | |
| And revel free, with all his am’rous train.— | |
| And we did kiss, my friend, and Love was there, | 175 |
| And smoothed the rustic couch that held my fair. | |
| Like a spring-mead with scented blossoms crowned, | |
| Her head with choicest wreaths Limona bound: | |
| But Love, sweet Love! his sacred torch so bright | |
| Had fanned, that, glowing from the rosy light, | 180 |
| A blush (the print of a connubial kiss, | |
| The conscious tattler of consummate bliss) | |
| Still flushed upon her cheek; and well might show | |
| The choicest wreaths she’d made, how they should glow; | |
| Might every flower with kindred bloom o’erspread, | 185 |
| And tinge the vernal rose with deeper red. | |
| |
| But come, my friend, and share my happy lot: | |
| The bounteous Phyllion owns this blissful spot; | |
| Phyllion, whose gen’rous care to all extends, | |
| And most is blest while he can bless his friends. | 190 |
| Then come, and quickly come; but with thee bring | |
| The nymph, whose praises oft I’ve heard thee sing— | |
| The blooming Myrtala; she’ll not refuse | |
| To tread the solitude her swain shall choose. | |
| Thy sight will all my busy schemes destroy, | 195 |
| I’ll dedicate another day to joy, | |
| When social converse shall the scene improve, | |
| And sympathy bestow new charms on love. | |
| Then shall the accustom’d bank a couch be made; | |
| Once more the nodding plane shall lend its shade; | 200 |
| Once more I’ll view Pomona’s jovial throng; | |
| Once more the birds shall raise the sprightly song; | |
| Again the little stream be taught to flow; | |
| Again the little fleet its balm bestow; | |
| Again I’ll gaze upon Limona’s charms, | 205 |
| And sink transported in her quiv’ring arms; | |
| Again my cheek shall glow upon her breast; | |
| Again she’ll yield, and I again be blest. | |
| |
