Yet temper'd with such chaste and awful fear
As wretches feel who wait their doom;
Nor must one ruder thought presume,
Though but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear.
It is to hope, though hope were lost;
Though heaven and earth thy passion cross'd,
Though she were bright as sainted queens above,
And thou the least and meanest swain
That folds his flocks upon the plain,
Yet if thou darest not hope thou dost not love.
It is to quench thy joy in tears; To nurse strange doubts and causeless fears : If pangs of jealousy thou hast not proved, Though she were fonder and more true Than any nymph old poets drew,
Oh, never dream again that thou hast loved.
If, when the darling maid is gone,
Thou dost not seek to be alone,
Wrapp'd in a pleasing trance of tender woe,
And muse and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so.
If any hopes thy bosom share
But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breast enthrall,
Thou never yet his power hast known;
Love sits on a despotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant, if he reigns at all.
Now if thou art so lost a thing,
Here all thy tender sorrows bring,
And prove whose patience longest can endure; We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost
In dreams of fondest passion most;
For if thou thus hast loved, oh, never hope a cure!
Он Thou! whose empire unconfined
Rules all the busy realms of Mind!
The slow-eyed Cares thy mild dominion
Confess; if thou thy rod extend,
No more the sharp-fang'd Sorrows rend,
But, hovering round on frolic pinion,
The laughing train of Joys descend.
To soothe the woes of absent love,
Come, Fancy! now, what time above
The full orb'd moon, that rose all glowing,
Begins her lifted lamp to pale;
What time to charm the listening vale,
In liquid warbles fondly flowing,
Laments the' enamour'd nightingale.
In softly pleasing light the queen
Of heaven arrays the blue serene,
Yet lovelier beams the gentle glory
In Anna's azure eyes display'd:
Sweet is the poet of the shade;
Yet sweeter than his warbled story
Each sound from Anna's lips convey'd.
Nor haply shall I ever find
That tongue to me alone unkind,
On every grief but mine so ready
To bid the balm of comfort flow;
Nor shall that eye, which every woe
But mine can melt, thus ever steady
To me alone no pity show.
Like mine her bosom now may feel
The tender melancholy steal,
Though maiden modesty dissemble;
And now while Memory brings again
The Muse which first reveal'd my pain,
The' involuntary tear may tremble,
And own the triumph of the strain:
So whispers Hope: by Fancy led
She comes; with rosy wreaths her head,
With rosy wreaths her sacred anchor
Love intertwines-in vain employ !
For lo! behind the' exulting boy,
With stifled smiles of patient rancour,
Creeps Mockery, watchful to destroy.
Ah! still, though whisper'd to deceive,
Let me thy flatteries, Hope, believe,
Content from grief one hour to borrow!
Ah, still, if o'er my distant way,
As through the path of life I stray,
Hang gathering clouds of future sorrow,
O Fancy! gild them with thy ray!
WHY thus decline my troubled eyes,
If hither their mild lustre bending
Those azure orbs to meet me rise?
Why thus, with thee conversing, dies
My voice, in broken murmurs ending?
Yet, dawning from my looks distress'd,
Yet wooing in the coy expression
Of faltering sounds, that half suppress'd
In sighs ill stifled breathe the rest,
Read-ah too dear! the fond confession.
In vain! what these soft tumults.show,
From thee, yet new to love, is hidden;
Untaught thy wishes yet to know,
If sighs ascend, if blushes glow,
What means the sigh, the blush unbidden.
But hope not ever thus secure
To dart thy wildly wandering glances :
What others now for thee endure
Thou soon shalt feel in bloom mature;
On hasty wing thy youth advances.
O skill'd in every graceful art
That adds a polish'd charm to beauty; Be mine those pleasing cares to' impart Which best refine the gentle heart,
Be mine to teach the tender duty.
F. LAURENCE.
TO THE ZEPHYRS.
YE! before whose genial breath
Hovering Death,
Girt with troops of wan diseases,
Quits the' usurped domain of air;
Where, oh! where
Linger ye, propitious breezes ?
Hither, where my languid maid
Woos your aid,
Come with balmy spirit blowing;
Gentle harbingers of Spring,
Hither bring
Health in rosy beauty glowing,
Bright-eyed Joy to Youth allied
At her side;
While with giddy gesture after
Trip gay Sports of wilder glance,
Tiptoe Dance,
Dimpled Smiles, and sleek-brow'd Laughter.
Joy-born Mirth shall lead the train;
Soon again
Her each sprightlier Love shall follow,
All who from the front defy,
In the dimple's treacherous hollow.
So your praise my song shall tell;
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