'Tis all a dream, a beau ideal Seldom imagined, never real;
By reason crushed, as when you stir, You break the filmy gossamer (2).
DESCRIPTION OF A LOVELY NIGHT.
It was a lovely night: the crescent moon, (A bark of beauty on its dark blue sea,) Winning its way (3) amid the billowy clouds, Unoar'd, unpiloted, moved on. The sky
Was studded thick with stars, which glitt'ring stream'd An intermittent splendour through the heavens. I turn'd my glance (4) to earth the mountain winds Were sleeping in their caves, and the wild sea With its innumerous billows, melted down
(2) The filmy gossamer, le léger fil de la bonne Vierge. (3) Winning its way, faisant son chemin.
(4) Glance, regard, coup-d'œil.
To one unmoving mass, lay stretch'd beneath In deep tranced slumber; giving back
The host above, with all its dazzling shene,
To Fancy's ken (1), as though the luminous sky Had rain'd down stars upon its breast. Suddenly The scene grew dim: those living lights rush'd out (2), And the fair moon, with all her gorgeous train, Had vanish'd like the frost-work (3) of a dream (4).
THE DREAMS OF LIFE.
All men are dreamers; from the hour When reason first exerts her power, Unmindful of its bitter sting
To some deceiving (5) hope we cling,
The brazen trumpet's clangour gives The joy on which the warrior lives; And, at his injured country's call, He leaves his home, his friends and all
The lover hangs on some bright eye,
(1) Ken, connaissance (peu usité par les Anglais, mais beaucoup par les Écossais).
(2) Rushed out, s'éteignirent subitement.
(3) Frost-work, vision (au propre, ouvrage de glace).
(4) The modest author of these beautiful lines has not favoured us with his name.
And dreams of bliss in every sigh; But brightest eyes are deep in guile, And he who trusts their fickle smile,
The poet, Nature's darling child, By fame's all-dazzling star beguiled, Sings love's alternate hope and fear; Paints visions which his heart holds dear -
And there are those who build their joys On proud ambition's gilded toys, Who fain would climb the craggy height, Whose power displays its splendid light,
While others 'midst the giddy throng Of pleasure's victims, sweep along; Till feelings (1) damp'd and satiate hearts (2), Too worn (3) to feel when bliss departs,
And when that chilly call of fear,
Death's mandate hurtles (4) in the ear,
(1) Feelings, sentiments, sensibilité.
(2) Satiate hearts, cœurs rassasiés, dégoûtés.
(5) Too worn, trop usé.
(4) To hurtle, frapper avec force, heurter; peu usité.
We find, would we (1) retrace the past, E'en life at best, how fading fast,-
Is but a dream! THEODORE.
A man of rank, and of capacious soul, Who riches had and fame beyond desire; An heir of flattery, to titles born, And reputation and luxurious life; Yet not content with ancestorial name, Or to be known because his fathers were; He on his height hereditary stood, And gazing higher, purposed in his heart. To take another step. Above him seemed Alone the mount of song-the lofty seat Of canonized bards; and thitherward (2), By Nature taught, and inward melody, In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye. He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced; As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed.
All passions of all men,
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe, All thoughts, all maxims sacred and profane, All creeds, all seasons, Time - Eternity;
(1) Would we pour if we would, si nous voulions. (2) Thitherward, vers cet endroit,
All that was hated and all that was dear, All that was hoped, all that was fear'd by man, He tossed about as tempest-wither'd (1) leaves; Then smiling, look'd upon the wreck he made. With terror now he froze the cow'ring blood (2), And now dissolv'd the heart in tenderness; Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself: But back into his soul retired,-alone, Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously (5) On hearts and passions, prostrate at his feet.
As some fierce comet of tremendous size, To which the stars did reverence as it passed'; So he through learning and through fancy took His flight sublime; and on the loftiest top
Of fame's dread mountain sat: not soiled and worn, As if he from the earth had laboured up (4), But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair He looked, which down from higher regions came, And perch'd it there, to see what lay beneath. POLLOCK.
From the red mouth of Etna's burning mount, A giant tree of fire, whence sprouted out (5)
(1) Trempest-withered, flétri par la tempête.
(2) Cowering blood, le sang glacé d'effroi.
(3) Contemptuously, avec mépris.
(4) To labour up, gravir avec peine. (5) To sprout out, jaillir.
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