With these I may not urge my suit, That mock the bow of heaven. But know, 'twas mine the secret power, And led thee, when the storm was o'er, By dreadful calm opprest; Which still, though not a breeze was there, That strove in vain for rest. "Twas I, when thou, subdu'd by woe, Didst watch the leaves descending slow, To each a moral gave; And as they mov'd in mournful train, And then, uprais'd thy streaming eye, I met thee in the western sky That, while with varying form it roll'd, Some wizard's castle seem'd of gold, And now a crimson'd knight of old, Or king in purple proud. And last, as sunk the setting sun, The gorgeous pageant past, Of Death must fall at last. Oh, then with what aspiring gaze To yonder orbs on high, THE PAINT KING. [From Allston's Poems.] FAIR Ellen was long the delight of the young, Her charms were the theme of the heart and the tongue, The beauties of Ellen the fair. Yet cold was the maid; and though legions advanc'd All drill'd by Ovidean art, And languish'd and ogled, protested and danced, Like shadows they came, and like shadows they glanced From the hard polish'd ice of her heart. Yet still did the heart of fair Ellen implore From object to object still, still would she veer, Like the moon, without atmosphere, brilliant and clear, But rather than sit like a statue so still gr. When the rain made her mansion a pound, Up and down would she go, like the sails of a mill, And pat every stair, like a woodpecker's bill, From the tiles of the roof to the ground. One morn, as the maid from her casement inclin'd, "Ah, what can he do," said the languishing maid, "Ah, what with that frame can he do?" And she knelt to the Goddess of Secrets, and pray'd, When the youth pass'd again, and again he display'd The frame and a picture to view. "Oh, beautiful picture!" the fair Ellen cried, " Fair damsel," said he, (and he chuckled the while) "This picture I see you admire; " Then take it, I pray you, perhaps 'twill beguile "Some moments of sorrow; (nay, pardon my smile) "Or, at least, keep you home by the fire." Then Ellen the gift with delight and surprize From the cunning young stripling receiv'd; But she knew not the poison that enter'd her eyes, When sparkling with rapture they gaz'd on her prizeThus, alas, are fair maidens deceiv'd! 'Twas a youth o'er the form of a statue inclin'd, Twas the tale of the sculptor Pygmalion of old; Fair Ellen remember'd, and sigh'd; "Ah, could'st thou but lift from that marble so cold, "Thine eyes too imploring, thy arms should enfold, " And press me this day as thy bride." She said: when, behold, from the canvas arose She turn'd and beheld on each shoulder a wing; "Oh, heaven! cried she, who art thou ?" From the roof to the ground did his fierce answer ring, As frowning, he thunder'd " I am the PAINT-KING! " And mine, lovely maid, thou art now!" |