On that the time were come, when she who now, (If Hope may trust to Love, a guide so blind) (Did maiden pride such frankness here allow) Would greet her friend with accents doubly kind; The time, when she, by Wedlock's holy vow, In Custom's tyrant bonds no more confin'd, Might ev'ry feeling of her soul avow,
And leave Reserve and all its frost behind. But why ungrateful should I thus repine? Has not the maid whom all my thoughts adore, Already deign'd, with goodness most divine, To grant as yet whate'er I durst implore ? And sure, thou trembling heart, the fault were thine, Hadst thou not boldness to solicit more.
AND could the charmer of my soul suppose, That praise, so justly to her talents due, From any source but strong conviction rose, And only meant my bantering pow'rs to shew? Alas, that she I love so little knows
This simple heart, to feign which never knew; And which could now without alarm expose
Its inmost feelings to her piercing view : But sure, if right I could those blushes read, Which kindled on her cheek confusion's flame, These cruel words from doubt could ne'er proceed, But rose entirely from ingenuous shame; Which strove beneath that sportive veil to hide The sweet perplexity of virgin pride.
WHEN late I nam'd the only sect I hate, And on my lip still sharper censure hung, How quickly then did she that rules my fate, Check the bold rashness of my froward tongue! From her displeasure's unaccustom'd glance, My face, with blushes ting'd, its error found; And saw that speech no farther must advance On such unlucky, rude, offensive ground. Oh ever thus, thou charmer of my soul, Let ev'ry dang'rous word by thee be check'd; Let thy sweet eyes my temper's fire controul, And thy dear hand my careless course direct : By three fair claims, oh deign to guide my life, At once the Friend, the Mistress, and the Wife.
YES, I have lov'd before; for many a maid Hath many a sigh this anxious bosom torn; And oft the Muse with moving song to aid My hope adventurous have I call'd; my youth Was fond and ardent, yet the flower of truth Beneath the cold aspéct as oft did fade: For how could Love, though faithful, live forlorn ? Not fickle was my heart, yet ah, to mourn Through many a year affection ill-repaid
With cruel scorn and ridicule! in sooth, Hard was the task.--At length, in smiles array'd, Thee, ELLEN, I beheld; thy tear of ruth Dropt on my heart; to me thy faith was sworn : Yet thou, even thou, the pledge of plighted love be-
PARDON that absence, mistress, which offended, And think what fears to servitude belong; Indeed, indeed, my love I meant no wrong; My thoughts at least upon your feast attended: But had I gone the merry guests among, Though by your smiles and cheering care befriended, How sadly would my sighs and tears have blended, With their loud laugh and bacchanalian song. Hard was the task, and painful to forbear, When Music, Beauty, Wit and Mirth invited; And sad the contrast of such social fare,
To sit alone in the mind's gloom benighted: But, lo! you weep. Nay if my griefs you share, By such affection I am well requited.
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