THE INVISIBLE GIRL*.
THEY try to persuade me, my dear little sprite,
That you are not a daughter of ether and light,
Nor have any concern with those fanciful forms
That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms;
That, in short, you're a woman, your lip and your
breast
As mortal as ever were tasted or press'd!
But I will not believe them-no, science! to you
I have long bid a last and a careless adieu:
Still flying from nature to study her laws,
And dulling delight by exploring its cause,
You forget how superior, for mortals below,
Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know.
Oh! who that has ever had rapture complete,
Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet;
How rays are confused, or how particles fly
Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh!
Is there one, who but once would not rather have
known it
Than written, with Harvey,whole volumes upon it?
No, no-but for you, my invisible love,
I will swear you are one of those spirits that rove By the bank where, at twilight, the poet reclines, When the star of the west on his solitude shines, And the magical fingers of fancy have hung Every breeze with a sigh, every leaf with a tongue!
The Invisible Girl was an acoustical deception, exhibited in Leicester Fields. From a glass globe, suspended in the midst of a room, and having no apparent communication with anything else, a female conversed with the spectators in four languages, and played upon the pianoforte: her breath might even be felt.
Oh! whisper him then, 'tis retirement alone
Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone;
Like you, with a veil of seclusion between,
His song to the world let him utter unseen,
And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres,
Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears!
Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love,
In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove,
To have you for ever invisibly nigh,
Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh!
Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of
[air, I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the And turn with disgust from the clamorous crew, To steal in the pauses one whisper from you.
Oh! come and be near me, for ever be mine, We shall hold in the air a communion divine, As sweet, as of old, was imagined to dwell In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates' cell.
And oft, at those lingering moments of night, When the heart is weighed down and the eyelid is light,
You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love,
Such as angel to angel might whisper above!
Oh spirit! and then, could you borrow the tone
Of that voice, to my ear so bewitchingly known,
The voice of the one upon earth, who has twined
With her essence for ever my heart and my mind!
Though lonely and far from the light of her smile,
An exile and weary and hopeless the while,
Could you shed for a moment that voice on my ear,
I will think at that moment my Cara is near,
That she comes with consoling enchantment to
speak,
And kisses my eyelid and sighs on my cheek,
And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by,
For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh!
Sweet spirit! if such be your magical power,
It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour;
And let fortune's realities frown as they will,
Hope, Fancy, and Cara may smile for me still!
THE ABSTRACT OF MELANCHOLY.
WHEN I go musing all alone,
Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow, and void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.
All my joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie waking all alone,
Recounting what I ill have done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannize,
Fear and sorrow me surprise;
Whether I tarry still or go,
Methinks the time moves very slow.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Nought so sad as melancholy.
When to myself I act and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile,
By a brook side, or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, or unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.
All my joys besides are folly,
None so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan,
In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and furies, then
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so sour as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I see,
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities fine,
Here now, then there, the world is mine;
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine,
Whate'er is lovely or divine.
All other joys to this are folly,
None so sweet as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghosts, goblins, fiends, my fantasy
Presents a thousand ugly shapes,
Headless bears, black men, and apes:
Doleful outcries and fearful sights
My sad and dismal soul affrights.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so damn'd as melancholy.
Methinks I court, methinks I kiss,
Methinks I now embrace my miss:
O blessed days, O sweet content!
In Paradise my time is spent!
Such thoughts may still my fancy move,
So may I ever be in love!
All my joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as melancholy.
When I recount love's many frights,
My sighs and tears, my waking nights,
My jealous fits; O, mine hard fate
I now repent, but 'tis too late.
No torment is so bad as love,
So bitter to my soul can prove.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Nought so harsh as melancholy.
Friends and companions, get you gone! 'Tis my desire to be alone;
Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy.
No gem, no treasure like to this,
'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.
All my joys to this are jolly,
Nought so sweet as melancholy.
'Tis my sole plague to be alone;
I am a beast, a monster grown;
I will no light, nor company,
I find it now my misery.
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Nought so fierce as melancholy.
I'll not change life with any king;
I ravish'd am! can the world bring
More joy than still to laugh and smile,
In pleasant toys time to beguile ?
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