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Translated by Mrs. Cockle
SOFT from its crystal bed of rest | |
| Mondego’s tranquil waters glide; | |
| Nor stop, till lost on ocean’s breast, | |
| They, swelling, mingle with the tide, | |
| Increasing still, as still they flow,— | 5 |
| Ah! there commenced my endless woe. | |
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| There Beauty showed, with angel mien, | |
| Whate’er is Beauty’s loveliest mould,— | |
| The enchanting smile, the brow serene, | |
| And ivory forehead wreathed with gold; | 10 |
| A countenance which Love’s soft art | |
| Has graven forever on my heart. | |
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| Content and glorious with the pain | |
| That shot from Beauty’s radiant eyes, | |
| From day to day I hugged my chain, | 15 |
| And played with life amidst my sighs, | |
| E’en with my fervent war at peace, | |
| Nor bade the dear illusions cease. | |
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| Though still those beaming orbs unclose, | |
| For me their fires no longer shine; | 20 |
| Can those avail to soothe my woes, | |
| If these bright beams no more are mine? | |
| For radiant howsoe’er they be,— | |
| Alas! they are not bright for me. | |
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| Ah! who might guess of love so deep | 25 |
| I ere the unfathomed end should see, | |
| Or dare to tell that aught would keep | |
| My separated soul from thee? | |
| That lost to hope, alone survives | |
| The cherished joy remembrance gives. | 30 |
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| Ah! who might say the glorious thought | |
| Should, in a moment, cease to heave | |
| This breast, with fond endearment fraught; | |
| And hope itself no more deceive? | |
| Yet memory still recalls thy power, | 35 |
| And shall till life’s receding hour. | |
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| Yet softly steals to soothe my grief | |
| The thought that cheats me into bliss, | |
| And gives me yet a faint relief | |
| Midst all my bosom’s wretchedness, | 40 |
| That in our happier hours you proved | |
| You ne’er could love as I have loved! | |
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| Thus shall the pangs of absence steal | |
| O’er thee, with half thy torturing woe; | |
| But shouldst thou guess the pangs I feel, | 45 |
| Or should thy tear of anguish flow, | |
| That tear would but my woes increase; | |
| In death alone I seek for peace. | |
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| Yet whispered to the murmuring stream | |
| That winds these flowery meads among, | 50 |
| I give affection’s cheating dream, | |
| And pour in weeping truth my song | |
| That each recounted woe may prove | |
| A lasting monument of love. | |
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