XXVIII. RETURNING MESSENGERS. I. I was harsh and unforgiving, Cruel taunts escaped my tongue; Every word, not dead, but living, Pierced the bosom whence it sprung Poison'd arrow, backwards flung. II. From my lips the words of blessing Each my happy soul possessing Bearing blessings ten times ten. XXIX. THE TAMBOURINE GIRL OF PROCIDA. I. I LOVE my little native isle, Mine emerald in a golden deep; My vineyard where the tendrils creep. How sweetly glide the summer hours, II. At morn the fisher spreads his sail The farmer labours in the vale, Or tends his vine and orange tree. But soon as lingering sunset throws They gather to the Tambourine. III. We love our merry native song, Our moss-grown seats in lonely nooks, Our moonlight walks the beach along, For interchange of words and looks. When toil is done, and day is spent, Sweet is the dance with song between; The jest for harmless pleasure meant, And tinkle of the Tambourine. IV. My native isle, my land of peace; My father's home, my mother's May evermore thy joys increase, grave; And plenty o'er thy cornfields wave! May storms ne'er vex thine ocean surf, Nor war pollute thy valleys green; Nor fail the dance upon thy turf, Nor music of the Tambourine! XXX. THE STAGE COACH AND THE STEAM CARRIAGE. O LUXURY of travel! joy refined! To fly steam-harness'd, in the ponderous train, And feel the victory of mighty Mind O'er space and time, for uses not in vain! Yet ever in this world must loss and gain Balance each other. Is it speed we prize? 'Tis edged with danger, equipoised by pain, And aids our business but to cheat our eyes. Th' unsocial Rail affords no varied pleasure Like yours, ye coaches of a former day: We miss the cantering team, the winding way, The road-side halt, the post horn's well-known air, The inns, the gaping towns, and all the landscape fair. R |