_New-York, March 28, 1797._
* * * * *
SPLEEN.
A SONNET.
Curse on thee, Spleen! or liberate my soul,
Or I must call on Madness for relief:
Madness is bliss, compar’d with thy controul
Of nerveless yearnings, and lean, tearless Grief!
For Madness sometimes will give ear to Mirth;
Yes, I have seen him sooth’d into a smile:
But thou, O Locust! of the sickliest birth,
Gangren’st all humours with thy vapoury bile!
Not even Love--and Madness sits by Love,
And hears his tale, and sighs, and oft will weep:
While thou, worst horror of the wrath of Jove!
Would’st dash him headlong from the wildest steep!
I can no more.--Heav’n save me! lest despair
Drive my poor struggling soul to tax thy care!
* * * * *
* * * *
+ALWIN and RENA.+
Ask you, why round yon hallow’d grave
The myrtle and the laurel bloom?
There sleep the lovely and the brave;
O shed a tear upon their tomb!
“Oh! cease, my love, these vain alarms!”
--For war prepar’d, young Alwin said--
“For I must quit my Rena’s arms;
My bleeding country asks my aid!”
“Yes, I will check this bursting sigh;
Yes, I will check these flowing tears:
A smile shall brighten in my eye;
My bosom shall dispel its fears!”
“You try indeed, to force a smile,
Yet Sorrow’s drops bedew your cheek;
You speak of peace--yet, ah! the while,
Your sighs will scarcely let you speak!”
“Go, Alwin!--Rena bids thee go;
She bids thee seek the fields of Death:
Go, Alwin, rush amid the foe;
Go, and return with Vict’ry’s wreath!”
A thrilling blast the trumpet blew;
The milk-white courser paw’d the ground:
A mix’d delight young Alwin knew;
While Rena shudder’d at the sound--
Yet strove to check the rising fears,
Which now with double fury swell;
And, faintly smiling thro’ her tears,
She falter’d out a long farewel!
Three tedious moons, with chearless ray,
Had vainly gilt the face of Night;
Nor yet the hero took his way,
To bless his drooping Rena’s sight!
At length, thro’ Rena’s fav’rite grove,
When now the fourth her radiance shed,
He came--and Vict’ry’s wreath was wove---
But, ah!--around a lifeless head!
Distracted at the blasting sight,
To yonder tall cliffs bending brow,
With beating breasts she urg’d her flight,
And would have sought the waves below!
But while, with steady gaze, she view’d
The foaming billows, void of fear,
Religion at her right-hand stood,
And whisper’d to her soul, “Forbear!”
And now the storm of grief was o’er;
Yet Melancholy’s weeping eye
Distill’d the slow and silent show’r,
Nor ceas’d--till Life’s own springs were dry!
For this, around yon hallow’d grave,
The myrtle and the laurel bloom:
There sleep the lovely, and the brave;
O! shed a tear upon their tomb!
[[Possible Source: _European Magazine and London Review_, vol. 16
(September 1789).]]
_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS
BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per
quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Circulating
Library of Mr. J. FELLOWS, No. 60, Wall-Street._
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, May 3, 1797.+ [+No. 96.+