« AnteriorContinuar »
Is like the sacred queen of night,
A vicious love depraves the mind,
ADDRESSED TO AMANDA.
Ah, urg'd too late! from beauty's bondage free,
fair-one-what I now declare
My woes all other remedy deny;
TO THE SAME,
l'ith a copy of the Seasons.
Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam,
And sometimes share thy lover's woe; Where, void of thee, his cheerless bome
Can now, alas ! no comfort know?
Oh! if thou hover'st ronnd my walk,
While, under every well-known tree, I to thy fancy'd shadow talk,
Aud every tear is full of thee :
Should then the weary eye of grief,
Beside some sympathetic stream, In slumber find a short relief,
Oh visit thou my soothing dream!
SONG. COME, gentle God of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast, Not fury-like in flames and fire,
Or frantic folly's wildness drest; But come in friendship's angel-guise :
Yet dearer thou than friendship art, More tender spirit in thy eyes,
More sweet emotions at the heart. O come with goodness in thy train,
With peace and pleasure void of storm, And wouldst thou me for ever gain,
Put on Amanda's winning form.
One day the God of fond desire,
On mischief bent, to Damon said,
Not own it to the lovely maid?
And, softly sighing, thus reply'd:
But shall not triumph o'er my pride.
The slave, in private only bears
Your bondage, who his love conceals; But when his passion he declares,
You drag him at your chariot-wheels.
Hard is the fate of him who loves,
Yet dares not tell his trembling pain, But to the sympathetic groves,
But to the lonely listening plain.
Oh! when she blesses next your shade,
Oh! when her footsteps next are seen In flowery tracts along the mead,
In fresher mazes o'er the green:
Ye gentle spirits of the vale,
To whom the tears of love are dear, From dying lilies waft a gale,
And sigh my sorrows in her ear.
Oh! tell her what she cannot blame,
Though fear my tongue must ever hind; Oh tell her, that my virtuous flame
Is as her spotless soul refin’d.
Not her own guardian angel eyes
With chaster tenderness his care, Not purer her own wishes rise,
Not holier her own sighs in pray'r.
But if, at first, her virgin fear
Should start at love's suspected name, With that of friendship soothe her ear
True love and friendship are the same.
Unless with my Amanda blest,
In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.
Awaken'd by the genial year,
In vain the birds around me sing; Iu vain the freshening fields appear :
Without my love there is no Spring.
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Bid us sigh on from day to day,