the monk(僧侣)-第39节

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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。

On　reaching　the　Hotel　de　Medina；　Lorenzo's　first　care　was　to
enquire　for　Letters。　　He　found　several　waiting　for　him；　but　that
which　He　sought　was　not　amongst　them。　　Leonella　had　found　it
impossible　to　write　that　evening。　　However；　her　impatience　to
secure　Don　Christoval's　heart；　on　which　She　flattered　herself
with　having　made　no　slight　impression；　permitted　her　not　to　pass
another　day　without　informing　him　where　She　was　to　be　found。　　On
her　return　from　the　Capuchin　Church；　She　had　related　to　her
Sister　with　exultation　how　attentive　an　handsome　Cavalier　had
been　to　her；　as　also　how　his　Companion　had　undertaken　to　plead
Antonia's　cause　with　the　Marquis　de　las　Cisternas。　　Elvira
received　this　intelligence　with　sensations　very　different　from
those　with　which　it　was　communicated。　　She　blamed　her　Sister's
imprudence　in　confiding　her　history　to　an　absolute　Stranger；　and
expressed　her　fears　lest　this　inconsiderate　step　should
prejudice　the　Marquis　against　her。　　The　greatest　of　her
apprehensions　She　concealed　in　her　own　breast。　　She　had　observed
with　inquietude　that　at　the　mention　of　Lorenzo；　a　deep　blush
spread　itself　over　her　Daughter's　cheek。　　The　timid　Antonia　dared
not　to　pronounce　his　name：　　Without　knowing　wherefore；　She　felt
embarrassed　when　He　was　made　the　subject　of　discourse；　and
endeavoured　to　change　the　conversation　to　Ambrosio。　　Elvira
perceived　the　emotions　of　this　young　bosom：　　In　consequence；　She
insisted　upon　Leonella's　breaking　her　promise　to　the　Cavaliers。　
A　sigh；　which　on　hearing　this　order　escaped　from　Antonia；
confirmed　the　wary　Mother　in　her　resolution。

Through　this　resolution　Leonella　was　determined　to　break：　　She
conceived　it　to　be　inspired　by　envy；　and　that　her　Sister　dreaded
her　being　elevated　above　her。　　Without　imparting　her　design　to
anyone；　She　took　an　opportunity　of　dispatching　the　following
note　to　Lorenzo；　It　was　delivered　to　him　as　soon　as　He　woke。

'Doubtless；　Segnor　Don　Lorenzo；　you　have　frequently　accused　me　of
ingratitude　and　forgetfulness：　　But　on　the　word　of　a　Virgin；　it
was　out　of　my　power　to　perform　my　promise　yesterday。　　I　know　not
in　what　words　to　inform　you　how　strange　a　reception　my　Sister
gave　your　kind　wish　to　visit　her。　　She　is　an　odd　Woman；　with　many
good　points　about　her；　But　her　jealousy　of　me　frequently　makes
her　conceive　notions　quite　unaccountable。　　On　hearing　that　your
Friend　had　paid　some　little　attention　to　me；　She　immediately　took
the　alarm：　　She　blamed　my　conduct；　and　has　absolutely　forbidden
me　to　let　you　know　our　abode。　　My