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Nor yet, my Delia, to the main
Runs the sweet tide without a stain,
Unsullied as it seems;

The nymphs of many a sable flood

Deform with streaks of oozy

The bosom of the Thames.

mud

Some idle rivulets, that feed
And suckle ev'ry noisome weed,
A sandy bottom boast;
For ever bright, for ever clear,
The trifling shallow rills appear
In their own channel lost.

Thus fares it with the human soul,
Where copious floods of passion roll,
By genuine love supplied;

Fair in itself the current shows,
But ah! a thousand anxious woes
Pollute the noble tide.

These are emotions known to few;
For where at most a vapoury dew
Surrounds the tranquil heart,
Then as the triflers never prove
The glad excess of real love,

They never prove the smart.

O then my life, at last relent!
Though cruel the reproach I sent,
My sorrow was unfeign'd:
Your passion, had I loved you not,
You might have scorn'd, renounced, forgot,
And I had ne'er complain'd.

While you indulge a groundless fear,
The imaginary woes you bear

Are real woes to me:

But thou art kind, and good thou art,
Nor wilt, by wronging thine own heart,
Unjustly punish me.

How bless'd the youth whom Fate ordains A kind relief from all his pains,

In some admired fair;

Whose tenderest wishes find express'd
Their own resemblance in her breast,
Exactly copied there!

What good soe'er the gods dispense,
The enjoyment of its influence

Still on her love depends;

Her love the shield that guards his heart,
Or wards the blow, or blunts the dart
That peevish Fortune sends.

Thus, Delia, while thy love endures,
The flame my happy breast secures
From Fortune's fickle power;
Change as she list, she may increase,
But not abate my happiness,

Confirm'd by thee before.

Thus while I share her smiles with thee,

Welcome, my love, shall ever be

The favours she bestows;

Yet not on those I found my bliss,

But in the noble ecstasies

The faithful bosom knows.

And when she prunes her wings for flight,
And flutters nimbly from my sight,

Contented I resign

Whate'er she gave; thy love alone
I can securely call my own,
Happy while that is mine.

Berkhamstead.

BID adieu, my sad heart, bid adieu to thy peace!
Thy pleasure is past, and thy sorrows increase;
See the shadows of evening how far they extend,
And a long night is coming, that never may end;
For the sun is now set that enliven'd the scene,
And an age must be past e'er it rises again.
Already deprived of its splendour and heat,
I feel thee more slowly, more heavily beat;
Perhaps overstrain'd with the quick pulse of pleasure,
Thou art glad of this respite to beat at thy leisure ;
But the sigh of distress shall now weary thee more
Than the flutter and tumult of passion before.

The heart of a lover is never at rest,

With joy overwhelm'd, or with sorrow oppress'd:
When Delia is near, all is ecstasy then,
And I even forget I must lose her again:
When absent, as wretched as happy before,
Despairing I cry, I shall see her no more!

At Berkhamsteud.

WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW BURNS.

How quick the change from joy to woe!
How chequer'd is our lot below!

Seldom we view the prospect fair,
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between,)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with Delia, gentle maid,
Far hence in happier fields I stray'd,
While on her dear enchanting tongue
Soft sounds of grateful welcome hung,
For absence had withheld it long.
"Welcome, my long-lost love, she said,
E'er since our adverse fates decreed
That we must part, and I must mourn
'Till once more bless'd by thy return,
Love, on whose influence I relied
For all the transports I enjoy'd,
Has play'd the cruel tyrant's part
And turn'd tormentor to my heart.
But let me hold thee to my breast,
Dear partner of my joy and rest,
And not a pain, and not a fear,
Or anxious doubt, shall enter there."
Happy, thought I, the favour'd youth,
Bless'd with such undissembled truth!-
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,

Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as I.-
Next day the scene was overcast ;
Such day till then I never pass'd,—
For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.

Yet e'er we look'd our last farewell,
From her dear lips this comfort fell:-
"Fear not that time, where'er we rove,
Or absence, shall abate my love."
And can I doubt, my charming maid,
As unsincere what you have said?
Banish'd from thee to what I hate,
Dull neighbours and insipid chat,
No joy to cheer me, none in view,
But the dear hope of meeting you ;
And that through passion's optic seen,
With ages interposed between ;-
Bless'd with the kind support you give,
'Tis by your promised truth I live;
How deep my woes, how fierce my flame,
You best may tell, who feel the same.

ON HER ENDEAVOURING TO CONCEAL

HER GRIEF AT PARTING.

AH! wherefore should my weeping maid suppress
Those gentle signs of undissembled woe?
When from soft love proceeds the deep distress,
Ah! why forbid the willing tears to flow?

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