Ode to Selene or Diana
Immortal Moon, in maiden splendour shine;
Dispense thy beams, divine Latona's child.
Thy silver rays all grosser things define,
And hide harsh Truth in sweet illusion mildl.
In thy soft light, the city of unrest
stands so squalid in thy brother's glare,
Throws off its habit, and in
Becomes a vision, sparkling
bright and fair.
The modern world,with all its care and pain
The smokey streets, the loathsome clanging
Face 'neath thy breams, Selene, and again
We dream as shepherds on Chaldea's hills.
Take heed, Diana, of my humble plea;
me where my happiness can last,
Draw me against the tide of Time's
And let my sprirt rest amidst the
To the Old Pagan Religion
Olympian gods! how can I let ye go,
my faith to this new Christian creed?
Can I resign the deities I know,
for him who on a cross for man did bleed?
How in my weakness can my hopes depend
one lone god, tho' mighty be his pow'r?
Why can Jove's host no more
To Soothe my pain, and cheer
my troubled hour?
Are there no dryads on these wooded mounts
O'er which I oft in desolation roam?
there no naiads in these crystal founts
nereids upon the ocean foam?
Fast spreads the new; the older faith declines;
The name of Christ resounds upon the air;
But my wrack'd soul in solitude repines
And gives the gods their last-received pray'r.
On the Ruin of Rome
How dost thou lie, O Rome, neath the foot of the Teuton
Slaves are they men, and bent to the will of thy conqueror;
hath gone, great city, the race that gave law to all nations,
the East and the West, and made them bow down to thy consuls,
defeat, but gave it to all who attack'd thee?
Dead! and replac'd by these wretches who cower in confusion.
they who gave us this empire to guard and to live in,
Rome, thou didst
fall from thy pow'r with the proud race that made thee,
and we, base
Italians, enjoy'd what we could not have builded.
Seated in a woodland glen
By a shallow stream
Once I fell
I was lull'd into a dream.
From the brook a shape arose
Half a man and half a goat,
it had instead of toes
And a beard adorn'd its throat.
On a set of rustic reeds
Sweetly play'd this hybrid man
car'd I for earthly needs,
For I knew that this was Pan.
Nymphs and Satyrs gather'd round
To enjoy the lively sound.
All to soon I woke in pain
And return'd to haunts of men
rural vales I'd fain
Live and hear Pan's pipes again
On the Vanity of Human Ambition
Apollo, chasing Daphen, claim'd his prize
But lo! she turn'd to
wood before his eyes.
More modern swains at golden prizes aim,
ever strive some worldly thing to claim,
Yet 'tis the same as in
For, once attain'd, the purest gold seems base.
that men seek's unworthy of the quest,
Yet seek they will, and never
pause for rest.
True bliss, methinks, a man can only find
virtuous life, and cultivated mind.