volume02-第16章
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h racked my breast; My disappointed hopes; and passion unreturned。
'Then fly; and curse mine eyes no more! Fly from my peaceful Cottage…door! No day; no hour; no moment shalt Thou stay。 I know thy falsehood; scorn thy arts; Distrust thy smiles; and fear thy darts; Traitor; begone; and seek some other to betray!'
'Does Age; old Man; your wits confound?' Replied the offended God; and frowned; (His frown was sweet as is the Virgin's smile!) 'Do You to Me these words address? To Me; who do not love you less; Though You my friendship scorn; and pleasures past revile!
'If one proud Fair you chanced to find; An hundred other Nymphs were kind; Whose smiles might well for Julia's frowns atone: But such is Man! His partial hand Unnumbered favours writes on sand; But stamps one little fault on solid lasting stone。
'Ingrate! Who led Thee to the wave; At noon where Lesbia loved to lave? Who named the bower alone where Daphne lay? And who; when Caelia shrieked for aid; Bad you with kisses hush the Maid? What other was't than Love; Oh! false Anacreon; say!
'Then You could call me''Gentle Boy! ''My only bliss! my source of joy !'' Then You could prize me dearer than your soul! Could kiss; and dance me on your knees; And swear; not wine itself would please; Had not the lip of Love first touched the flowing bowl!
'Must those sweet days return no more? Must I for aye your loss deplore; Banished your heart; and from your favour driven? Ah! no; My fears that smile denies; That heaving breast; those sparkling eyes Declare me ever dear and all my faults forgiven。
'Again beloved; esteemed; carest; Cupid shall in thine arms be prest; Sport on thy knees; or on thy bosom sleep: My Torch thine age…struck heart shall warm; My Hand pale Winter's rage disarm; And Youth and Spring shall here once more their revels keep。'
A feather now of golden hue He smiling from his pinion drew; This to the Poet's hand the Boy commits; And straight before Anacreon's eyes The fairest dreams of fancy rise; And round his favoured head wild inspiration flits。
His bosom glows with amorous fire Eager He grasps the magic lyre; Swift o'er the tuneful chords his fingers move: The Feather plucked from Cupid's wing Sweeps the too…long…neglected string; While soft Anacreon sings the power and praise of Love。
Soon as that name was heard; the Woods Shook off their snows; The melting floods Broke their cold chains; and Winter fled away。 Once more the earth was deckt with flowers; Mild Zephyrs breathed through blooming bowers; High towered the glorious Sun; and poured the blaze of day。
Attracted by the harmonious sound; Sylvans and Fauns the Cot surround; And curious crowd the Minstrel to behold: The Wood…nymphs haste the spell to prove; Eager They run; They list; they love; And while They hear the strain; forget the Man is old。
Cupid; to nothing constant long; Perched on the Harp attends the song; Or stifles with a kiss the dulcet notes: Now on the Poet's breast reposes; Now twines his hoary locks with roses; Or borne on wings of gold in wanton circle floats。
Then thus Anacreon'I no more At other shrine my vows will pour; Since Cupid deigns my numbers to inspire: From Phoebus or the blue…eyed Maid Now shall my verse request no aid; For Love alone shall be the Patron of my Lyre。
'In lofty strain; of earlier days; I spread the King's or Hero's praise; And struck the martial Chords with epic fire: But farewell; Hero! farewell; King! Your deeds my lips no more shall sing; For Love alone shall be the subject of my Lyre。
The Marquis returned the paper with a smile of encouragement。
'Your little poem pleases me much;' said He; 'However; you must not count my opinion for anything。 I am no judge of verses; and for my own part; never composed more than six lines in my life: Those six produced so unlucky an effect that I am fully resolved never to compose another。 But I wander from my subject。 I was going to say that you cannot employ your time worse than in making verses。 An Author; whether good or bad; or between both; is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to attack; For though All are not able to write books; all conceive themselves able to judge them。 A bad composition carries with it its own punishment; contempt and ridicule。 A good one excites envy; and entails upon its Author a thousand mortifications。 He finds himself assailed by partial and ill…humoured Criticism: One Man finds fault with the plan; Another with the style; a Third with the precept; which it strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault with the Book; employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author。 They maliciously rake out from obscurity every little circumstance which may throw ridicule upon his private character or conduct; and aim at wounding the Man; since They cannot hurt the Writer。 In short; to enter the lists of literature is wilfully to expose yourself to the arrows of neglect; ridicule; envy; and disappointment。 Whether you write well or ill; be assured that you will not escape from blame; Indeed this circumstance contains a young Author's chief consolation: He remembers that Lope de Vega and Calderona had unjust and envious Critics; and He modestly conceives himself to be exactly in their predicament。 But I am conscious that all these sage observations are thrown away upon you。 Authorship is a mania to conquer which no reasons are sufficiently strong; and you might as easily persuade me not to love; as I persuade you not to write。 However; if you cannot help being occasionally seized with a poetical paroxysm; take at least the precaution of communicating your verses to none but those whose partiality for you secures their approbation。'
'Then; my Lord; you do not think these lines tolerable?' said Theodore with an humble and dejected air。
'You mistake my meaning。 As I said before; they have pleased me much; But my regard for you makes me partial; and Others might judge them less favourably。 I must still remark that even my prejudice in your favour does not blind me so much as to prevent my observing several faults。 For instance; you make a terrible confusion of metaphors; You are too apt to make the strength of your lines consist more in the words than sense; Some of the verses only seem introduced in order to rhyme with others; and most of the best ideas are borrowed from other Poets; though possibly you are unconscious of the theft yourself。 These faults may occasionally be excused in a work of length; But a short Poem must be correct and perfect。'
'All this is true; Segnor; But you should consider that I only write for pleasure。'
'Your defects are the less excusable。 Their incorrectness may be forgiven in those who work for money; who are obliged to compleat a given task in a given time; and are paid according to the bulk; not value of their productions。 But in those whom no necessity forces to turn Author; who merely write for fame; and have full leisure to polish their compositions; faults are impardonable; and merit the sharpest arrows of criticism。'
The Marquis rose from the Sopha; the Page looked discouraged and melancholy; and this did not escape his Master's observation。
'However' added He smiling; 'I think that these lines do you no discredit。 Your versification is tolerably easy; and your ear seems to be just。 The perusal of your little poem upon the whole gave me much pleasure; and if it is not asking too great a favour; I shall be highly obliged to you for a Copy。'
The Youth's countenance immediately cleared up。 He perceived not the smile; half approving; half ironical; which accompanied the request; and He promised the Copy with great readiness。 The Marquis withdrew to his chamber; much amused by the instantaneous effect produced upon Theodore's vanity by the conclusion of his Criticism。 He threw himself upon his Couch; Sleep soon stole over him; and his dreams presented him with the most flattering pictures of happiness with Agnes。
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