| |
| HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem | |
| Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? | |
| Bright as the humming-bird’s green diadem, | |
| When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain? | |
| |
| Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine? | 5 |
| That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold? | |
| And splendidly mark’d with the story divine | |
| Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold? | |
| |
| Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing? | |
| Hast thou a sword that thine enemy’s smart is? | 10 |
| Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing? | |
| And wear’st thou the shield of the fam’d Britomartis? | |
| |
| What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave, | |
| Embroidered with many a spring peering flower? | |
| Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave? | 15 |
| And hastest thou now to that fair lady’s bower? | |
| |
| Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown’d; | |
| Full many the glories that brighten thy youth! | |
| I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound | |
| In magical powers to bless, and to sooth. | 20 |
| |
| On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair | |
| A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain; | |
| And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare | |
| Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain. | |
| |
| This canopy mark: ’tis the work of a fay; | 25 |
| Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, | |
| When lovely Titania was far, far away, | |
| And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish. | |
| |
| There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute | |
| Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened; | 30 |
| The wondering spirits of heaven were mute, | |
| And tears ’mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened. | |
| |
| In this little dome, all those melodies strange, | |
| Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; | |
| Nor e’er will the notes from their tenderness change; | 35 |
| Nor e’er will the music of Oberon die. | |
| |
| So, when I am in a voluptuous vein, | |
| I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, | |
| And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain, | |
| Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose. | 40 |
| |
| Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown’d; | |
| Full many the glories that brighten thy youth, | |
| I too have my blisses, which richly abound | |
| In magical powers, to bless and to sooth. | |
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