« ForrigeFortsett »
(Bishop of Chichester.]
LL me not bow fair she is,
I never shall come near :
And tell me not how fond I am
To tempt my daring fate
But to repent too late :
I ask no pity, Love, from thee,
Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me
The glory of my flame : Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice.
E virgin powers ! defend my heart
From amorous looks and smiles, From saucy love, or nicer art,
Which most our sex beguiles.
From sighs, from vows, from awful fears,
That do to pity move ; From speaking-silence, and from tears,
Those springs that water love,
But, if through passion I grow blind,
Let honour be my guide;
There place a guard of pride.
A heart whose flames are seen, tho' pure,
Needs ev'ry virtue's aid, And those who think themselves secure,
The soonest are betray'd.
Gently touch the warbling lyre,
Chloe seems inclin’d to rest,
Softest notes will soothe her best.
On the mossy bank she lies,
Nature's verdant velvet bed,
Forming pillows for her head.
Ask if yon damask rose be sweet,
That scents the ambient air ; Then ask each shepherd that you meet
If dear Susanna's fair,
Say, will the vulture leave his prey,
And warble through the grove ;
Then doubt thy shepherd's love.
The spoils of war let heroes share,
Let pride in splendor shine ;
Be fair Susanna mine.
you taste the noontide air,
Down each side a river flows,
Round, the languid herds and sheep
All alone and in her arms
A how sweet it is to love !
Ah, how gay is young desire !
When we first approach love's fire;
Sighs, which are from lovers blown,
Do but gently heave the heart: Ev’n the tears they shed alone,
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart; Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Love and time with rev'rence use,
Treat 'em like a parting friend;
Which, in youth, sincere they send,